


The Agent

by Miouhaneun



Series: The Forgotten People [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Family Drama, Friendship, Military, Multi, Mystery, Peace, Tragedy, War, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2019-11-17 17:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 130,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miouhaneun/pseuds/Miouhaneun
Summary: It began a long, long time ago. Men of iron descended from the mountains. They burned our homes and put the chains around our wrists. Later, when a race of heroes came we hailed them as saviours; opening the enemy's gates to them. But that is all in the past, and this is now. Now our agent must find the traitors within the walls, and end them. (Canon with a twist)





	1. 1:

" _What mad conviction led man to believe he could rule the world when he had already failed to rule himself?" – Dieter A. Bachmann_

* * *

**1:**

* * *

"Hey fatty," the bald, hard looking man standing in front of her says in a smooth, threatening tone. "What's your name?"

The agent squares her shoulders ever so slightly, resisting the impulse to look down.

"Iris Bachmann, of Mitras, sir." She places her right fist over her heart, moving her left hand to her lower back. The man looks at her salute as though he finds it distasteful.

"I think you've made a mistake, recruit. You must have taken a wrong turn on your way home. The King's Armed Forces has no need of fatties who needs a string of servants to get dressed i the morning." The sun bounces off his shiny head and into her eyes, forcing her to squint at him. When she makes no attempt to speak, he continues:

"Why are you here, you maggot?!"

Shadis' grim face hovers only a few inches from hers, left eye twitching slightly.

"To serve, sir."

"Oh, so we have another who is just dying to serve the king." Shadis' smile mocks the idea. "You and cadet Bott should join hands."

"Is that an order, sir?"

A flicker of amusement flashes across his face, but then his expression sobers.

"Service?!" he barks. "And what the hell would Mitran pampered scrum like you know of service? You make me sick! Turn around so I don't have to look at your stupid face again."

She turns around with as much dignity as she can afford, hearing someone close by snicker quietly. Iris hears Shadis stalk away in search of someone else to amuse himself with. Her new view of the large group of recruits offers up a wide selection of young faces. They are a ragged bunch of strays, runaways, farmers' children and impoverished working-class youths fallen on hard times. Many are as thin as bean stalks, so wispy that a strong gust of wind might whisk them away.

She allows herself to glance at the long faced kid the instructor had head-butted some minutes ago. He cups his forehead with one hand, standing rigidly upright. Behind her Shadis identifies his next victim and comes to a halt.

"Who are you, maggot?!" she hears him ask.

"Reiner Braun, from within Wall Maria," a boy replies in a deep baritone. Shadis snorts loudly, but for all his bluff and bluster it is apparent to her that he is not totally averse to the raw material he sees in front of him.

"And you?! Why are you here?!"

"I'm here to save humanity." His accent is a little strange; not quite the typical farmer's slur which seems to gulp down some of its consonants, but a somewhat more refined drawling singsong… He must be base-born though, surely. No one of decent birth would speak so plainly, or thoughtlessly.

Shadis makes a show of belittling the recruit even though he clearly likes the look of him. He does another sweep of the lines and hones in on someone within Iris's visual range. It is a small blonde girl who is decidedly pretty, and the instructor questions her so viciously Iris finds herself waiting for the moment when the girl will break into tears. When the girl, Krista, seems close to unravelling completely Shadis finally lets up and leaves her be.

The ceremony draws to a close and the instructor takes his leave. Iris picks her pack up off the ground, ignoring those around her as she makes her way to her assigned bunkhouse. Once inside she places her pack atop one of the empty beds. She unpacks her clothing, paying no mind to the murmur of voices around her. Her hand brushes against a cool metal disc inside her pack, and she picks it up. The brass object is of intricate design; an outer ring marked with symbols and numbers encircles a smaller, inner ring which is turnable. In clockwork, the arms revolving around the center of the disc would have measured time, but here they aid in measuring distance. The object is an astrolabe, and a fine one at that. She lifts her eyes and scans the bodies inside the room, finding that none of them are looking at her. After a moment's hesitation she slides it into her boot, tucking it into her sock. It would be unacceptable if it went missing.

Iris looks up, seeing the ghost of herself reflected in the window glass on the opposite wall. She feels as though someone is looking at her and turns her head. Most of them look away when they see her turning, but one girl's eyes remain fixed on her.

"Hi," the pretty blonde girl says. Her eyes are big and innocently blue; the shade of morning skies.

"Hello," Iris replies.

"I'm Krista." The girl smiles in a friendly way, the same way she no doubt smiles at anyone she meets.

"Iris."

A tall, slightly older looking girl with tanned skin and freckles who sits a couple of bunks away from her makes a face that says she has heard enough of this exchange to be bored with it.

"Gloomy one, aren't you?" she asks nonchalantly, making it clear by her tone that she expects no reply. Krista looks appalled by the girl's rudeness, but only manages to give them each a doubtful look before she kind of shrinks into the background in a peculiar way.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you come here if all you're gonna do is stink up the entire place with your doom and gloom? Some rich girl coming here wanting to play soldier, seems like. Not to your liking so far?"

"I feel right at home," Iris replies. The girl seems a little disappointed that her words had not elicited a stronger reaction. She peers at Iris with mixed reproach and intrigue.

"Sure… seriously though, most of us are just dying to get into the MP's so we can get behind Shina and enjoy the good stuff in life. Why would  _you_  come here at all?"

Iris shrugs as if to say "I do not expect you to understand" and sees the girl's eyes flash with anger.

"I am here to serve," she repeats, reflecting on how it is a rather unsatisfactory explanation. "

"You don't strike me as one of Fritz's fanatics," the girl remarks.

Iris shrugs. "Certain things are expected of a highborn lady. Should you not wish to fulfil such expectations this is the only honourable alternative."

The girl considers this piece of information. "I'm Ymir," she says coolly.

"Iris Bachmann."

Ymir turns back to her. "Your accent is ridiculous, Lady Bachmann. Do all highborn fops speak like that?"

"Oh, yes. I imagine they do. I hope you will excuse me, there is something I must do. We will have time to speak later, once we have been officially accepted." Iris reaches into one of her trouser pockets and pulls out a leather strap. With it she begins to tie her hair back.

"Are you that confident you will pass the test?"

"I will pass the test." Iris finishes with her hair and gets ready to go.

Ymir snorts loudly. "Good luck then."

Iris reflects that the girl really is rather tall, slender and almost boyish with her narrow hips and flat chest. Her face is decidedly feminine, though.

"Good luck to you too."

She exits the bunkhouse, intent on running before supper.

This place feels strange and unfamiliar to her. It will get easier once she knows what it is she must do, or so she tells herself.

" _Five miles there_ _,_ _"_ she remembers Papa saying. Her breath comes in rapid bursts while her feet thrum rhythmically against the packed dirt. She sees Potato Girl running around the barracks, but steers her steps in the other direction in order to avoid contact.

" _Five miles there and five miles back. I expect you to make better time than you did last week. You will thank me one day_ _,_ _Pumpkin."_

Many of her early memories are of running down the cobbled street with the sound of her heart hammering in her ears; seeing her house up ahead and knowing that as soon as she turns the corner she will see Papa standing outside, his pocket watch in hand. If she makes good time he might tell stories of the world that was at the dinner table. She loves his stories.

* * *

The dinner hall is packed. She looks around for a space to sit and notices a table that she at first takes to be empty. The blonde girl sitting there is no doubt the prime reason for the lack of other occupants – her face holds an expression that says she might like to strangle cats in her free time. Her blue eyes seem disinterested and threatening at the same time, daring anyone to disturb her peace and quiet with their presence. So far no one has risen to the challenge. Unperturbed by the look on the girl's face, Iris moves in that general direction before she notices the familiar shape of Ymir at another table nearby. There is a free space next to her where Iris could sit. She considers her options for a moment before she decides to take her chances with the scary blonde.

A moment later she sits down next to the freckled brunette. She had decided against her inclination to seek Ymir's company, only to change her mind mid-way there. At first Ymir seems not to notice her presence; it looks to Iris as though she is discretely observing Krista out of the corner of her eye. Then, as if her spider senses have begun to tingle, Ymir turns her head.

"Oh, it's you again," she says and shows her teeth in something that could be either an ironic smile or a sneer.

"It is I," Iris parrots.

"Was almost beginning to think you'd run home, Lady Bachmann."

"Like most people, I run in circles," she says, inspecting a grey glob of unidentifiable origin she just found in her soup. She feels intent on disguising her disgust of the belligerent nickname as disgust at being confronted with shocking low-end cooking. Ymir snorts a little.

"Funny."

"It was no jest," Iris replies and doubtfully tastes the broth of the soup. Deciding that it is alright she braves the grey glob to venture into her mouth, losing heart only a moment later and swallowing it whole without chewing.

She looks up, noticing a stranger sitting on the other side of the table. His eyes are a startling golden shade of hazel, so intense that as his eyes linger on her face she finds his gaze to be almost intrusive. She scrutinizes the tall friend sitting next to him, feeling him looking at her all the while. The friend is lanky and unassuming; his dark brown hair cropped short, mouth downturned and serious, and his dark eyes are shy, yet softly pleasant in a way that his friend's eyes are not.

"Hi," the aforementioned friend says in the low, rich baritone she had heard earlier. So this was the savior of mankind.

"Greetings," she replies without looking at him.

"Hello, I'm Bertholdt," the tall one says and smiles a timid, gentle smile that transforms his entire face.

" _He seems to be a kind person,"_ she thinks apprehensively, regretting the thought as soon as it enters her mind.

"Iris Bachmann."

"You're the Mitran girl," the brunette's uncomfortably intense friend says, and somehow swims into view again in an uncanny way. He seems to take the fact that she is looking at him at all as some kind of encouragement. "Reiner Braun," he says and smiles. There is nothing unassuming about this smile, or about the way his eyes refuse to leave her face.

"I know. You are the savior of mankind," she replies dryly, searching for a way to subtly point out that he is overstepping by speaking to her with such familiarity.

He chuckles.

"Ah, you heard that. I really should think before running my mouth... But yeah."

To her right, Ymir produces a sound that is a cross between a snort and the shriek of an angry rodent. "Hear, hear," she scoffs.

"You think it impossible?" Iris asks without thinking, and the look she receives is all the answer she needs.

"You'd have to be pretty dumb to believe in saviors," she says, but Reiner's expression does not sour. It is as if he did not hear her at all. "I'm only here to save myself. No one else will," Ymir continues.

"Most people would not consider this an easy life," Iris says before realizing the implication in Ymir's words.

"People who say that don't know shit," Ymir responds darkly. "Let them tend to their lives and I'll tend to my own."

A tense, quiet moment passes before Bertholdt smiles apologetically.

"I think I might be the only one who came here hoping to lead a peaceful life."

"Do you not feel there are things worth fighting for?" Iris asks.

"Quite the opposite." He smiles again; dark velvety eyes glinting sadly in the dull light from the lamps above. "But there are also many things not worth fighting for."

Iris is still trying to decipher what that could possibly mean when Reiner shifts at his friend's side. As if by some strange magic she feels compelled to look at him.

"Was it you I saw running earlier? I thought I saw someone blonde and-" for just one split moment his eyes leave her face, and they sort of glide down her neck and chest before wandering back up, making her feel thoroughly scandalized. "-and it was not Potato Girl" he finishes.

"It was I," she replies stiffly.

"Why not relax today when training begins tomorrow?" The slight smile is still there on his face; it seems to say  _"Look, see how friendly I am. You can trust me"_.

"I am relaxing right now," she replies, sitting rigidly upright on the bench.

Reiner chuckles as if she had made a joke. "The instructor did not get to you then?"

Iris looks at the light and well-natured smile on his face. For a moment she considers what "get to you" is supposed to mean.

"A certain amount of humiliation is to be expected in these circumstances. Individualism has no place in a military unit, and it is fair to assume that I would think myself better than others when society is built on the perception that it is so."

"… I'll take that as a 'No'." That smile again; friendly, inviting even.

They eat in silence. Ymir disinterestedly pokes around in what remains of her meal as she slyly throws little glances Krista's way. Iris notes her rather particular interest in this one girl, and so keeps an eye on her as well. She sees Krista slip a loaf of bread underneath the table, tucking it into the pockets of her skirts. There is a strange look on Ymir's face as she watches Krista paw the food.

"I have never been to Mitras," Bertholdt says and looks at Iris with mild interest. "What is it like?"

"Clean," Iris replies, thinking of the stained sheets she is expected to sleep in. She sees the corners of Bertholdt's mouth turn in a subtle smile. She shrugs and continues: "Society there adheres to its own set of rules; rules only the king may impose on; and life goes on as it always has, regardless of what happens outside of Sina."

"Have you met King Fritz?" he asks.

"Everyone living in Mitras has seen His Grace from afar I imagine."

"You haven't had the chance to meet him up close then." He seems a little less eager now.

"I have on occasion, but His Grace does not grant such audiences to just anyone," she explains, a little confused to have to do so at all. She peers at him, wondering just how far into the outer rim of Maria he grew up. "While most recognize His Grace as their king and protector, there are some who argue that the crown is a retrograde blight upon humanity. Society battles against such critics claims of rationalism and reason, ideas of free commerce, and the promise of liberty – Imagine what harm such radicalists might do to His Grace's person if they were allowed at court."

Bertholdt sits back a little, thoughtful for a moment.

"Only trusted individuals are allowed access." The way he says it, it is no question.

"Yes. A peasant owns no right to his thoughts, but court is built on trust as His Gracious Majesty can never completely bend them to his wishes. Individualism is the privilege of nobility," she replies. The slight edge in her voice seems to confuse Bertholdt, who gives her a lingering look.

"You're nobility then," Reiner comments casually. Iris puts her spoon down onto the table, feeling her brows furrow slightly. His expression is perfectly blank.

"I am."

It takes a moment for him to show any reaction. "You're a lady," he smiles

"All titles are forfeit once you enlist."

"As if that will stop the officers from tripping over each other in their rush to hang a badge on you when we graduate," Ymir snorts.

An officer's badge in exchange for a private donation to the military treasury – such things are strictly against regulations. The choice of which branch to go to, if at all, and when to do it will not be hers to make, and so Iris does not occupy herself with thoughts of it. She shrugs dismissively, and a slightly awkward silence follows.

Reiner looks as though he is about to break the silence when some sort of disturbance behind them interrupts him. They turn in their seats and see that a small crowd has gathered around a brown haired boy with intense eyes who looks as though he only came of age this year. He was among the ones Shadis had glanced at in passing only to move on in search of fresh prey, and looking at him now Iris understands why. He must have been there that day; he has the slightly ragged, frantic look about him.

"Who is he?" she asks the people around her quietly. A sandy blonde boy she does not know the name of, sitting one chair away from Reiner, turns to her and almost whispers his reply:

"That's Eren Yeager. He and his friends were in Shiganshina when the gate fell."

Iris Blinks. "And who are you?"

"Mylius Zeramuski. I'm from Ranohira."

"Oh, I am-"

"I know," he says quickly. She nods and says no more.

"I'm gonna join the survey corps and rid the world of titans," Eren says heatedly.

Iris half registers that whatshisname, with his bumpy forehead and with the face of someone who knows he is the smartest person in the room, asks if Eren is serious in his wish to join the Survey Corps. Whatever reply Eren gives muddles in her mind as her focus drifts to settle on the previously so smarmy Reiner.

"Did you see… when they came?" she asks him and Bertholdt, making the assumption that they have known each other for quite some time. Reiner's face darkens as he trades looks with Bertholdt.

"Yeah, we did."

"Ymir, what about you?" she asks the tall girl at her side. Ymir seems to have lost all interest in the conversation and is looking elsewhere, but Iris feels that perhaps she is not so aloof that she did not hear the question.

"What was that?" Ymir drawls, lazily watching the ill-tempered blonde girl who still sits alone at her table. Iris prepares to repeat her question when Ymir waves a hand at her, still turned away, obviously deciding that she probably heard the first time after all. "Ah yeah. Nah I didn't see anything, was miles off the wrong way."

Iris nods thoughtfully.

She looks up as the bell signaling the end of supper rings. Reiner and Bertholdt are on their feet almost immediately, saying goodnight before they head off together with hurried steps. Ymir does not seem to mind that Iris accompanies her outside, and to her question of where they are going once she realizes they are not headed for the bunkhouse, Ymir answers:

"Tracking something. I think I've got a good idea of where this thieving little mouse is off to."

They find Krista Lenz feeding stolen bread to Potato Girl. Things get stranger when Ymir bends to pick Potato Girl up, saying they should get her to bed. She claims it is not from kindness, but only gives a rather half hearted excuse as to why it is in her self-interest to help Sasha before she carries her off. Krista looks to Iris as if hoping she will provide some clarification, but she too only shrugs her shoulders in puzzlement before she follows behind the taller girl.

Back at the bunkhouse Ymir unceremoniously dumps Potato Girl onto a bunk and leaves her there, still fully dressed. The exhausted Sasha was probably asleep even before she hit the bed, and so they make no effort to move her.

"This idiot is never going to learn anything if you keep pawing food for her. No one will think you're noble if you get caught," Ymir says.

Krista Lenz looks confused and a little aggravated by the tall girl's comments.

"I don't see how it's wrong to want to help people," she says and looks between Ymir and Iris.

"Don't forget you're stealing from all of us to feed her. If she'd just kept her stupid mouth shut she'd have had dinner just like everyone else." Ymir grumbles turning away from the blonde girl.

Iris strips down to her undergarments, taking care when slipping the metal disc from her sock and tucking it underneath her pillow. She will hold it in her hand while she sleeps. She climbs into bed and lies there, staring up at the roof above.

This is her life from now on, these people her comrades.

As the lights go out one by one, slowly filling the room with darkness, she tells herself that she is proud to have been chosen for this duty. The briefing had been just that; brief. She was to enlist with the southern division of the 104th Training Corps and await further instructions. She believes there are other agents enlisted with the King's Armed Forces, but her assignment must be special. She was separated from the others and briefed alone, which she takes to mean that it has something to do with the invasion of Wall Maria. In moments of weakness she is tempted to ask herself why the Council had picked her. Could she have been the best among them? If so, it is news to her.

Iris closes her eyes, letting the tension drain from her muscles. Doubts will not help her succeed. She hears the soft breaths from the people around her, the soothing lullaby of the sleepers promising safety and comfort to those who dare embrace the darkness. Her wool-stuffed mattress is not as soft as a feather bed, but it is warm and comfortable, its fusty smell a reminder of all those who has slept in it before her.

She dreams of a place where the air is thick with moisture, smelling strongly of salt and something pungent like rotting cabbage. She feels sand between her toes, itchy but pleasantly warm underneath the soles of her feet. The sounds of waves and water fill her ears.


	2. 2:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos friends!

" _They came on a Wednesday. On Thursday we watched as somber young men rode to their deaths, through the cheering crowds." – Dieter A Bachmann_

* * *

**2:**

* * *

Iris passed her initial test.

She had not once allowed herself to doubt that she would be able to master the maneuvering gear, but it had not stopped her from shivering as they strapped her into the harness. As they raised her into the air she was reminded of a game she used to play when she was younger. Papa told her to balance herself standing on one foot atop a wooden pole; a game to fine tune her balance and make her agile. The left leg had always caused her more trouble than the right one did. She stood still for hours, trembling from head to toe from strain of staying upright. Papa was so disappointed in her whenever she fell. On those nights she would sleep in the room in the cellar.

While she hung from the wires, she thought of how cold the floor had been down there.

Many dropped out after the initial ceremony, and for a while there Eren Yeager, the boy who managed to make every conversation into something about him, found himself facing the rather grim possibility of being kicked out. It turned out that his difficulties were due to some faulty equipment, but others could not claim as much.

Their numbers dwindled.

Those who remained settled into the new routine of their lives; following a carefully arranged schedule of training, studying, eating and cleaning. All their facilities were self-maintained, and they had a rolling schedule of assigned duties. Shadis was a stickler for rules and order, and he liked nothing better than when someone broke his rules, forcing him to "get creative" with his punishments.

Iris tried to keep out of the foreground of things, opting to keep her mouth shut in favor of watching and listening to the others as much as possible. In her mind she kept records of her comrades, trying to file away every little detail they revealed about themselves in case it would prove useful in the future.

Ymir was difficult to understand, and after a while Iris stopped trying to. She was secretive and guarded, but the more time they spent together the more at ease Iris felt in her company. Their mutual approval of each other might have looked like friendship from afar, but Iris was wary of forming any kind of attachments to these people. She kept her emotional distance. If she had one ally among these people though, it would be Ymir.

Jean was a piece of work. Put him among the talented people of their division and he was a downright ass; shamelessly bragging and putting other people down for any real or imagined weakness he could find in them. Next to Mikasa he turned into some kind of shapeless putty; incapable of both speech, and coherent thought.

Eren was brash and incredibly dedicated despite his lack of natural aptitude. His talents lay more in the ability to turn every conversation into a proclamation of courage, as if hoping that if the titans did not fall down dead in appreciation of his oratory capabilities, then at least his last words would be something worth quoting on a cenotaph.

Armin struck her as a brilliant strategist with incredible deductive powers. Sadly his lack of confidence often led him down the path of incredibly long winded explanations of the state of things, why they were so, and why they could not possibly be anything other than what he had deduced they must be. Whenever people lost interest, or simply fell asleep in a vain attempt to seek refuge from boredom, he took it as confirmation of his strategic ineptitude and apologized rigorously; blushing crimson.

Annie, the cat strangler, made it clear to everyone who approached her that she was not someone to be trifled with. She was the size of a pixie but kicked like a horse.

Mylius, soft spoken and amiable, somehow always seeming to know what everyone was doing, be it openly on in secret. His doodles would have been worthy of any illustrator's good name, and Iris found herself giving him sheets of paper for the sheer enjoyment of seeing his bright expression.

Karl was a meddler and a politician, taking whichever side suited him the most. Being a watchmaker's son, he had a great understanding for how mechanical things worked, and Iris would sometimes catch him tinkering with his maneuvering gear even though such was strictly forbidden.

The more she learned of Bertholdt, the more she found that she respected him. He was the quiet type who, once you got him talking, revealed himself to be a person of great depth – a thinker who preferred to reason rather than to make rash judgments. The issue was getting him to open his mouth in the first place.

Reiner charmed people and nestled his way into a key position in any group or gathering. He liked being the center of attention and wanted people to rely on him for help with anything and everything.

Her life found a steady rhythm in hard work. They would often train from the time the sun came up until it dropped below the horizon again. The alarm would sometimes sound in the middle of the night, and they would all run outside to perform emergency drills devised by Instructor Shadis. The number of cadets dropped from having been just over two hundred on the first day to somewhere closer to eighty. Entire sections of the accommodation areas were closed off within three months.

She had expected to further instructions within weeks of arriving at camp, but months went by without any form of contact. Lacking any further instructions she focused all her attention on her training.

* * *

She had been assigned to kitchen duty with Reiner today. She could swear he had grown both broader and taller during the last few months; shoulders, chest and thighs now swelling with muscle mass. He ate a lot, often smiling and complimenting his way into getting seconds at supper; something which was strictly against the rules, though few seemed of a mind to say no to him.

They are peeling their vegetables in silence. Water stains the front of her shirt; she had almost dropped the little pot after filling it with water. She tries to brush a few loose strands of her hair out of her face, only managing to plaster them to her cheek; now wet as well. She feels Reiner looking at her. She would not say that she avoids him; although saying that would not be far from the truth.

She drops another potato into the stew pot with a resounding 'plop'. Some water splashes onto her face, and gets into her eye where it stings. She screws up her face and hears him chuckle. She wipes at her eyes with her damp sleeve in a futile gesture, hearing him move around somewhere close. When a huge, calloused hand grabs her wrist she tenses, pulling back. She retreats two steps, and realizes that he has put a dry piece of cloth in her hand.

"Are you always this jumpy?" he asks in a tone that could be either warm or subtly smug.

"I am not jumpy," she mumbles, wiping her face. She opens her eyes and finds him looking at her. His easy grin is probably the reason why most people find him easy to like.

"Alright, skittish then," he jokes good-naturedly.

"Merely apprehensive," she says and puts the cloth on the counter, turning away from him.

"Apprehensive, of course." She hears him pick up the knife again, and then follows the sound of metal sighing as it slides through a carrot's hard flesh. His low-key irony irks her.

"I dislike being touched," she continues flatly.

"I only wanted to help." His knife bites through the vegetable and collides with the wooden surface below with a sharp 'crack'. The carrots will go into the broth before the potatoes do, if Reiner refrains from turning them into a wet pulp that is.

"I do not need your help."

He chops a carrot into three sloppy pieces, holding the knife like a butcher's cleaver.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Pardon?" she says, throwing him a dark look. He chuckles, completely unperturbed. He never seems to run out of smiles, and while some are egotistically wasteful with theirs, his ones are apt and calculated.

"I think you might need my help, lady Bachmann."

"With what, might I ask?" she says, making an effort to keep her composure. It is as if he, despite her inscrutable expression, knows how much the title insults her. His smile stays on.

"You're pretty decent when it comes to vertical maneuvering, but your combat scores are low." Another carrot meets a swift, brutal end by his hand. This time one of the pieces makes a mad dash across the counter before it bounces against the side of her ribcage as if seeking refuge in her arms. She flicks her hand out, catching it before it falls to the floor. She imagines herself to be a titan, and the carrot a tiny person that she is now clutching in a massive, meaty fist.

" _Why do I eat you when you do not to fill my belly?"_

She takes a small step towards Reiner and holds her hand up, opening her fingers and spreading them so that he can pluck the carrot from her palm.

"And how is that any of your concern?"

He picks up the carrot from her open palm with a thoughtful expression on his stern, triangular face.

"I'm in second place on the chart right now."

"That hardly answers my question." She picks up another potato and begins to peel it. Reiner turns to the mangled corpses of his carrots and sweeps them into his huge hands, tossing them into the stew pot.

"Kinda does, doesn't it?

"Why would you help me?"

At first he looks puzzled, but then his mouth widens in that easy, leisurely grin.

"A single twig breaks, but a bundle of twigs is strong."

She pauses. "Proverbs were often designed with the purpose of inspiring men to eagerly throw themselves at their enemy without fear of death, thought of surrender, or question of why."

This stuns him for just a moment. "Sounds like something Bert would say."

Iris nods approvingly. "He seems to be a very reasonable person." She thinks about the delicate issue of her dissatisfactory combat scores, and decides. "I will accept your help," she says.

"Funny, I can't seem to remember actually offering to help you," he replies.

She stiffens. Had he simply meant to mock her by his comments?

"That was a joke, by the way," he adds. "I'll try to help."

Iris tries to relax again but finds it difficult. Reiner is one to jest, but every once in a while he does it with such a dark face that anyone might wonder what his intentions are. He picks up the flint, bends, and strikes a spark at the hearth on the first try.

"Do you not get jokes or…?" he says.

"Of course I do."

He gives her a look that says he doubts it.

"So, when do you wanna start?"

They start once official training ends the following day.

* * *

"Alright, show me."

Reiner watches as she raises her blades. Her stance is coiled, shoulders squared and elbows slightly bent.

"Slash, like you mean it."

She digs her right foot into the ground and swings through her body, putting her weight behind it to increase the force. It is nothing like fighting in the air, but gas is a precious resource and they are only allowed in-air maneuvering under the supervision of Shadis or one of his underlings. She completes the motion, and her blades whistle through the air.

He considers her movements in silence, eyes unwavering even as the steel whistles past him only centimeters away from his face.

"Good, but I would suggest you keep your elbows bent through the slash. You lose power and aim if you straighten your arms, and there's an increased risk of fractures to your wrists."

She mimics the motion again, making sure not to straighten her arms mid-swing. He is right of course; this way is better. He nods appreciatively to her.

"I'll be honest with you, I'm surprised you don't do better in combat training."

She considers a reply but finds little to say that is not too revealing. "Maybe I just need to hear a really good motivational speech."

He chuckles.

"Let's get a neck. We can just toss it on the pile with the others later. I doubt they'd punish us severely if they found out."

"I never took you for a breaker of rules."

He shrugs. "If it's for a good cause."

The substitute titans' necks are made of some strange material; not hard to the touch like steel or iron, but dense enough to require considerable force to slash through it. The Council owns one of the factories involved in their production, but the how is a mystery to her.

At first Iris thinks the heavy lock on the area's gate is going to force them to turn back, but then Reiner kneels before it, pulls something out of his pocket, and picks the lock as though it is the most natural thing in the world to do.

"What?" He says when he sees the look on her face.

"You possess a peculiar set of skills."

"Comes in handy" He shrugs.

Indeed it does. Iris would have thought that only career criminals would possess the tools and the skill to do so on the go, but it seems even a farmer's boy knows how to nowadays. She moves inside the fenced area, grabbing the edge of the sheet covering the necks between her fingers and lifting it aside.

There's a smell of spring in the air. She has made it through her first winter, and birds and leaves are returning to these lands. The sun lingers in the late afternoon sky, but it will be dropping below the horizon within the hour.

"We better do this now, or return to the barracks."

They carry the neck just outside of the fenced area and settle it against the trunk of a tree. Reiner angles it so that she will be able to cut it without being suspended above ground.

"I'll hold it steady... would really appreciate it if you didn't cut my hands off," he jests with a hint of seriousness.

She looks at the large, flesh-colored material. Its huge and bulbous form makes it resemble a particularly huge and particularly fat hog, helplessly awaiting the ludgement of her blades.

"What do you think about when you strike?" He asks, as if sensing her demoralization.

"Nothing," she replies reflexively.

"Nothing?" He grimaces at the idea. "You can't think of nothing - that won't work. You need to think of the blade as an extension of your arm, see it strike your target before you even begin to perform the motion."

Iris closes her eyes, thinking it was a mistake to accept his offer to help her. She knows how to handle a weapon; the weapon is not the problem. The problem is her mind.

"I know," she mutters.

Iris levels her blades, raising them in an arch over her right shoulder as she readies herself for the swing. They begin their journey towards their intended target, singing as they cut through the air. Her eyes are on the pink neck, but she does not see a titan or even a training dummy.

Instead she sees her father. He holds his hands out to her, stern blue eyes as commanding as those of a god but it is too late to stop the cut from landing on its mark. There is no strength left in her arms as she buries the steel inside his body. The cut is shallow. Her stomach roils and flips inside her body. A familiar feeling of overwhelming dread and shame washes over her like a tidal wave, only to be swept aside a moment later. She blinks rapidly and then begins to shiver with wild, maddening exhilaration.


	3. 3

**3:**

* * *

Iris signs her name on the letter. She has been sitting atop her bed for over an hour, and now she straightens herself. The muscles in her neck and shoulder ache dully. She hesitates before folding the letter over. The envelope and the wax lie atop the dresser at the opposite wall, all she needs to do is put the letter inside the envelope, seal it, and send it off… Once again.

An entire year has passed since she enlisted with the 104th division of the Training Corps. During this time she has waited patiently, fully inserting herself into this burdensome lifestyle.

The message she wishes to relay to the Council is short and to the point, hidden underneath the general musings of a daughter corresponding with her father:

"IRS JQR"

" _I await your orders. What is my mission?"_

The chance of her receiving a reply this time, when all her previous attempts at establishing contact have resulted in nothing, seems rather low. A year has passed since she was sent here; one whole year of complete, impenetrable silence. She still does not know for sure that she is tasked with identifying and watching the invading enemy, but what else could it be? With more information... but she must trust the Council. They know what to do.

She seals the letter with her family crest and takes it to the postmaster. On the way back she sees four boys lounging upon the long grassy slope that separates the soldiers' barracks and the administrational buildings. Jean, Marco, Mylius and Karl all seem to be looking at something. After a moment's hesitation, her curiosity takes over and she joins them, sliding down to sit next to Mylius. Jean has a sheathe of grass sticking out from between his lips, and he chews it slowly as he watches the larger group of cadets situated further down the slope.

"Sent off another letter, Iris?" Marco asks, turning her way. She nods in answer to his question.

"Yes," she mumbles.

"My parents would love it if I wrote them as often as you do yours, I bet."

She too looks to the other group below, wondering what has caught the boys' interest.

"You wondering what we're looking at?" Karl asks as if able to read her mind.

"I suppose I am."

Mylius gives her a glancing look, but Jean huffs a little and points his finger at one of the people below.

"Hannah wanted help bringing in the fresh rations."

Iris scrunches her face up in confusion, in part because she cannot fathom how this is worthy of anyone's interest, and in part because the person Jean has pointed to is not Hannah. She waits, hoping that Jean will continue to explain of his own volition, but he does not.

"Well" she finally asks. "What of it?"

It is Mylius who answers her.

"Hannah asked Braun for help. You should have seen Franz's face."

That certainly explains why Jean had pointed to Reiner instead of Hannah.

"... Yes?" she says when no one seems eager to offer further information.

Jean turns and looks at her doubtfully. "Franz likes Hannah," he says as if explaining something obvious to a child.

"Oh," she says.

Now that Iris knows his secret she cannot help but notice the way he looks at Hannah.

"Makes you wonder if Hannah likes Braun. I mean, why else ask him when Franz is standing there looking at her?" Mylius says mildly, eyes twinkling.

"Reiner has made hiself a character it is rather easy to find agreeable." Iris watches Braun folding his arms across his chest while speaking.

Karl smiles. "I don't think that's exactly what our friend here was referring to."

Iris disagrees, thinking that it is exactly what Jean was referring to. Reiner has admirers, not friends. The more time she spends in his company the more she finds that he treats everyone the same way, like everyone is an old buddy he has sorely missed, and somehow disliking that about him.

"At least Mikasa isn't falling for that bullshit," Jean mutters as though he hadn't heard any of them. Mylius snickers.

"She ain't falling for you either, Horseface."

"Oi!" Jean turns and gives his shoulder a little shove, but then he grins. "You're just jealous of my good looks."

"Did your mum tell you that, Jeanie?" Karl says.

Jean's face turns bright pink, and he momentarily loses the ability to speak.

"Ah just look at him though," Mylius says, leaning back on his elbows while he watches Reiner in the distance. "If he wasn't such a good guy I'd hate his guts."

Iris looks on darkly.

Her training sessions with Braun had continued for months, and despite her showing little to no improvement he had never commented on her poor performance. She had been grateful for the opportunity to practice without having too many sets of eyes on her, finding it easier to bear the humiliation when it had been shared with only one other person. Three weeks ago she had thrown her blades away in frustration after making yet another frustratingly shallow cut, only to find Braun smiling smugly at her as she turned back around.

"Who would've thought you had such a temper, Lady Bachmann."

"Do not call me that."

"Sorry," he'd said, not sounding the least bit sorry. "Alright, I'll tell you what. Let's just stop for a moment and admit what's going on here."

Iris had stared at him, not knowing what to say. She had absolutely no idea what he was speaking of and felt she was in no mood for his antics.

"Well… It's not like there's something wrong with you, you're clearly not even trying." His mouth had widened in a confidential grin. "If you want to spend time with me you could just come right out and say so."

She had promptly proceeded in giving him the coldest look she could muster before turning around and walking away without another word.

At the present moment she is beginning to feel like an apology on her part might be in order. At the time she had been certain that he had been mocking her, but with each passing day she finds herself less and less sure that it had been so... Perhaps he had rather crudely attempted to jest in order to ease the tension, or make some sort of connection with her. Braun could have offered to help her because he finds watching her floundering like a fish on dry land amusing, certainly. But doing so would be rather cruel of him, and no matter how she feels about his superficial 'charm' she does not believe him to be a cruel person.

Yes, an apology really is in order.

"Iris?" Marco says, waving his hand somewhere close to her face in his attempts to grab her attention. She blinks and looks at him.

"Pardon?"

"Was that your father in today's paper?"

Papa's portrait had covered the front page. The artist had sketched him with a smile on his face, clad in evening dress and standing next to a haggard, frightened looking woman. His hand had rested upon her shoulder. If the portrait bore any likeness to his person then he must be in good health. The picture is wrong however; Papa is not a smiling man.

"It was."

"Cool. I mean, I had wondered if you two were related, but what were the odds?" Marco says. He looks genuinely happy as he continues: "It's a good thing, what he does. You must be proud."

The article had centered on the Kristiania Recovery Center, an institution devoted solely to the treatment of traumatized victims of the titan invasion. Her father is the founder and proprietor of the institution, as well as one of its greatest benefactors.

Iris nods. "He would be glad to hear you say so," she replies politely. As if Papa would concern himself with the opinions of royalist plebs.

She regrets the thought almost immediately. Marco is a kind person.

Iris gets to her feet.

"I should get going," she mumbles and sees Reiner lifting his head to look in their general direction. His eyes find her, and she meets his gaze. She might as well apologize now and be done with it.

"Seeya," Jean muttes.

Mylius gives her a quick look. "Mind loaning me some paper later, Bachmann?"

"It is only a loan if you intend to return it," she protests.

"I'll draw your portrait."

She resists the urge to grimace. "Very kind of you, but I must refuse. I will gift you the paper, do with it as you please."

"Thanks," he grins.

She walks down the slope, hoping that she will not arouse much attention by asking to have a word with Braun in private. Of course, prying Braun away from his enthusiastic following will always result in some amount of excitement.

He turns to her as she approaches. She wonders if he even reflected over whether she could possibly be here for someone other than him.

"Hey Iris," he says with a tone suggesting she is a friend he has not had the pleasure of speaking to for quite some time... At least he did not call her Lady Bachmann again.

"Might I have a word with you?" she asks. The murmur of conversation dies down around them. She turns her head and notices Bertholdt amongst them. She should have known he would not be far away. He looks at her and smiles kindly, and she resists the ridiculous impulse to curtsy. It is difficult for her to adapt to the informality with which the people here interact, though she would dare say that she is getting better at it.

"Any amount of words you're comfortable with," Reiner replies.

She had thought it would be obvious what she wished to speak to him about, and that she would prefer not to broach the subject with so many listening on, but if Reiner has any notion of this he does not let it show. She waits, hoping that he will suggest they step aside. He does no such thing.

"In private," she adds quietly, feeling her face heat up. She has the feeling that he very well knew what she wanted, but simply wished to hear her ask for it.

"Alright," he says, unfolding his arms and motioning her to come with. They walk down the dirt road and take a right onto the path that leads onto the chicken coops.

"So, what word was it you wanted to share with me?" he says..

"I was hoping to speak to you of the way we parted… you know when."

Reiner stops abruptly, forcing her to halt and turn around.

"The time you threw some things around and looked like you wanted to throttle me before you stormed off, you mean?" he says nonchalantly.

Why is he so insistent on twisting everything she says or does?

"That is not-" she hurriedly chokes out, and his smirk says that he has gotten exactly the reaction he had been hoping for. She takes a deep breath, trying to swallow her pride. Just choke it own, breathe, and get this unpleasantness over with.

"I am willing to admit that I might have overreacted, and that I should have resolved the issue right away rather than taking my leave in such a way."

Reiner raises his eyebrows in an expression of mild surprise.

"You're asking for my forgiveness?"

"That would be putting it rather strongly," she protests. "I erred, but I do not believe I was solely responsible either."

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying that I did something to you?" he asks, and she is surprised to hear the hint of anger in his voice. Could this be the sign of a genuine emotion? From Braun?

"You laughed at me. I understand that my feeble efforts amuse you, but I do not take well to being mocked by-" She cuts herself short, but sees in his eyes that he has some idea of what she had been about to call him. His lips form a thin line across his jaw. The unspoken words hang between them like sticky cobwebs.

"I see," he says tightly. "So that's it… And here I've been trying to help you, even though I've gotten nothing in return for my efforts. I've tried to talk to you to get you to open up a little. Since you're obviously shy I thought a joke or two might lighten the mood and make you feel better, but I guess I was wrong about that too."

Braun balls his hands into tight fists, but his voice remains eerily calm.

"You think I don't understand you, but I get it. You've obviously been trained before. Someone taught you hand to hand combat and shooting and you were no doubt excellent, problem is that shit doesn't matter here. You, with your high birth and your training know you belong at the top of the list but instead you're scraping by at the bottom, forced accept help from lowborn trash like me." His face is stone.

"Do not put words into my mouth," she replies coldly, but in truth she is quite startled. "I have not victimized you in any way, and that you would even suggest that I have done so offends me greatly. I wished for us to come to an understanding, but I see now that it was a mistake on my part."

She swings around, and abandoning all her dignity she storms off back the way they came. It is probably best is she, as far as it is possible to do so, avoids further contact with Reiner Braun.

Four weeks later she receives a letter that changes everything.


	4. 4

**4:**

* * *

Iris crouches in the undergrowth, trying to breathe quietly. She is starving, but the prey is close now. The air smells sweetly of moss and fern, and gulps it down greedily. She wishes it was her hand holding the bow but Bertholdt will not miss - He never misses. Everyone here is talented in some way whether it be strength of mind, fighting or using the maneuvering gear, but Bertholdt is the most natural marksman she has ever seen.

Iris's only other weapon is her hunting knife. Their equipment consists of a set of warm clothing, a cape to keep them dry, and a water bottle. What is the point of this exercise? How is sending teams of three into the wilderness carrying only survival gear supposed to teach them to defend the kingdom against titans? It is not... obviously.

She winces as a body rustles the leaves to her left, but as the prey turns to flee the hunter looses his arrow. The sound of something hard sinking into something soft is followed by a short shriek, and the prey goes down in a flurry of paws and tufts of fur. Iris gets up and rushes forward, inwardly cursing her luck. They could have lost their dinner because of a careless movement from one graceless fool. She throws the foliage to her left a dirty look. Of all the people she could have been paired with for this pointless excursion, why did it have to be Hoover and  _Braun_?

She kneels beside the small body of the hare. It trembles, furry chest heaving while it stares up at her. Her knife is in her hand, ready to end its suffering. She hears Braun's heavy footsteps as he comes up beside her, and his presence distracts her from her task. She hesitates.

"Do you want me to...?" he asks quietly, motioning to the knife.

Iris looks up at him, making sure to look him in the eye as she severs the animal's carotid artery. The prey relaxes underneath the hand holding it down, its suffering finally over. Bertholdt climbs out of the foliage, his face dark with dirt.

"I'll start the fire," he says mildly and stalks towards the place where they have prepped the ground for a cook fire.

Braun sighs.

"Why?" he says, his face inscrutable.

Why what? It could mean anything.

"I do not understand," she says and uses a leaf to wipe some of the blood off her dagger.

"Why do you dislike me?" His voice is quieter now. "From the very moment we met - I must have done something to you, so what is it? What did I do?"

Iris glances up at him and finds his body taut. The fingers of his right hand drum against his thigh in a steady beat and his expression is nothing short of severe. His hazel eyes do not stray as they meet hers, but rather seem to ask for her honest reply.

"It is not that I dislike you," she says, wondering if it is the truth or not. She sighs, straightening herself a little bit. Her knees have begun to ache from her crouching. "It is simply... That I do not know you."

He puts his hands out in an exasperated gesture. "It's not like you've tried to get to know me. Whatever I say seems to be the wrong thing. When I try to fix it I make it worse. I don't know how to talk to you and it's a problem."

It could have sounded like an accusation, but his tone is calm and sensible. She sheathes her knife slowly, contemplating her response.

"You are right," she says with equal sensibility. "I have not tried." She looks down at the hare and suddenly feels the urge to pet its soft fur. How ridiculous. She pulls a piece of string from her pocket and fumbles with it as she ties the hare's hind legs together. She hears Braun's knees pop as she crouches before her.

"I'm sorry for what I said last time," he says placatingly.

"No," she replies. The next words feel strange in her mouth, but the first rule of infiltration is not to lie. "You were right. I thought those things... of you."

"I know. Suppose that's why I laughed at you."

Iris gets to her feet.

"Would you carry this for me?" She holds the hare out. Its head swings limply back and forth, its blood staining the ground black in the weak light.

Braun rises, smiling carefully. "Does this mean we can start over?" He takes the hare, holding it like it weighs nothing at all.

Iris holds her hand out to him, the left one, as his right holds the hare. He looks a little surprised, but then he takes her hand.

"Iris," she says.

"Reiner," he says, unsmiling.

They walk back without saying much. She finds the silence comfortable, familiar, like the company of an old friend. She has never understood people who speak openly as if their every thought is a gift to humanity which must be shared with everyone, right away. Some people seem eager to narrate their own lives, like they believe it is a novel being written for the enjoyment of others. Braun seems to be the type to do this, which makes her wonder if the silence feels as uncomfortable to him as it feels comfortable to her. What kind of story does he imagine himself writing? One with a hero as the main character, she presumes. After all, he is the self-proclaimed savior of mankind.

They reach the small fire that Bertholdt is working on, and she begins to skin the rabbit right away. The slippery, warm wetness does not become her. The smell does not become her. Its death will allow her to live on; its flesh will nourish her body. It is the way of the world, between birth and death we must devour. Lack of one will hasten the other, inevitably, until all life ends. But... does life ever truly end? Could it? Is there not some god waiting on the other side of the veil, waiting to pass judgement, take them into its fold or whatever else gods do? Who knows.

They cook the meat over the fire, eyes glimmering like those of ravenous dogs. It is their first real meal today. She fights the urge to gobble down every last morsel, such is her hunger. When the meat is gone she regrets its passing. The fire warms her face. Her trousers are stained with blood, little speckles at the bottom that will never wash out.

She reaches into her jacket inner pocket and pulls out the small piece of leather she has rolled the letter into. She almost did not dare believe it when the postman had read her name on the envelope, but here it finally was. The Council had not forgotten her. Her heart had flitted like the wings of a tiny bird as she read it through. Her astrolabe had helped her discern the true message hidden within, and when she finally found the code she checked it again... and again.

She unrolls the letter now, staring down at the sets of words that come together to form the message: "YSL"

"That's the first letter from home you've received, isn't it?" she hears Bertholdt ask quietly.

She nods. "It is."

"I thought you wrote home quite often."

She looks up. His expression is apologetic. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

He is right, it is not, but it would be impolite of her to say so.

"My father is... he has many duties to attend to. From my letters he knows that I am well, and that is surely enough."

She looks down at the letter in her hands. If absolved of his duties, could Papa even go on existing? The more she tries to imagine him as a free man, the more she feels convinced that such a world, in which he would be such a man, could never exist. Duty and the capacity to uphold it is what sets us apart from beasts and other lower beings – Or so he says.

"What about your mother?" Braun asks, breaking her chain of thought.

There's a moment of confusion in which she cannot seem to remember the conversation that preceded this vague question. Her thoughts had wandered again. Duty, obligation, orders, such things occupied her mind as of late. She realizes now that Braun is asking whether or not Mama is alive and well, and if she is still with the living, why does she not write?

"Mama was very upset that I chose this life. She has devoted herself fully to my sister, and I do not expect that I will hear from her for quite some time."

Mama would not know of her location even if she wanted to communicate. She could pass messages through Papa, should she feel like it. In truth she had been beyond upset the day Iris secretly registered and was accepted to the Agency.

Her words seem to have made them both feel somewhat uncomfortable, and so she shrugs. "Family is always a complicated affair, is it not?"

Visibly relieved, they agree with her. She looks at the letter again, feeling the urge to check the code for the umpteenth time though she knows it will render nothing new. The message is still "YSL". It is short code in which three letters come together to form a marker, and to each marker there is a predetermined blanket statement. In turn the blanket statements have deeper meaning, and additional markers might be used to provide ore information. It is very primitive, but unless you are in possesion of both the tools to find the code and the key it is also a fairly secure way to communicate via post.

YSL is the marker for " _Cuckoos in the nest"._

She has indeed been sent here to find someone who does not belong here. Cuckoos lay their eggs in the nests of other birds, destroying the parent bird's egg by pushing it out and replacing it with one of their own. The cuckoos in this scenario would be the foreign titan vessels, however many they might be. Two have been sighted, but why would the enemy send only two?

Whoever was sent must have been trained in deep infiltration, and if their training resembles hers they will know that lies lead to discovery. Lies are too complicated, difficult to keep track of, too easy to over-indulge in.

Which of her new comrades are the titan vessels? No one seems like they belong here and yet in some strange way they all belong here. Who is more likely to be the enemy agent, the one who seems to belong the most, or the one who seems out of place like Kirschtein? Could it be Kirschtein? He all but refuses to talk about his past - True he came here alone but would not any smart infiltrators take care not to be too obviously linked to one another?

Could it be Ymir? In some ways she would be the most obvious lead. She seems to have come out of nowhere, and will give no answer to what her life was like before enlistment. To tell the truth, Iris would much prefer it if Ymir was not an invading enemy. In fact, she likes Ymir. It will not matter, should she prove to be an enemy, but she would like it not to be so.

Iris looks up at Braun and Bertholdt. The first is looking into the fire. He has pulled his knees up against his chest and they are now supporting both his hands and his square chin. His eyes are distant, as if deep in thought. The second is looking at her attentively. Bertholdt is always rather attentive, sensitive to the moods of others.

"Do you have family, Bertholdt?"

He gives her one of his sad smiles. She has never known anyone to look so sad whenever they are smiling. Perhaps it is the shape of his eyes that does it, for nothing else in his face suggests grief. He nods slowly.

"Out there," he says quietly, nodding as if to indicate the overgrown wasteland outside Wall Rose.

Not a 'yes' or a 'no'. His family still being out there means nothing when so many never made it inside Wall Rose that day.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude."

"It's okay," he says and seems to mean it.

"You are quite the marksman."

"Thank you."

"I just find it rather curious that you have the skill. Were your family hunters?"

Bertholdt and Braun share a look between them.

"No," he says. His voice is a slow singsong. "I was trained to shoot as a means of protection. We both were."

Iris looks at Braun. He is a terrible marksman, and it surprises her to hear that he has been taught before.

"That bad, eh?" he smiles. "At least I'm better at vertical maneuvering."

Well, there is an understatement if ever there was none. Iris suddenly feels her fatigue. All this thinking exhausts her.

"It is time I retire," she says, spreading her cape on the ground like a blanket a few feet away from the fire.

"Good idea," Braun replies.

She lies down with her back to the others.

As loathe as she is to admit it, Iris has no idea who the enemy agents are. There is not enough information for her to go on. She needs more, and there is only one place she could think of that could give her more – Shadis' office. He keeps their personal files there. She must get to them without being found out. Time to try her skill at picking locks.


	5. Freedom reigned

" _A secret is never truly safe until all who knows it are dead" – Dieter A. Bachmann_

* * *

**5:**

* * *

The icy cold water runs down her body, stinging like broken glass. She shivers as she works the soap against her skin. The lather runs in a steady stream down her belly and in between her thighs. Foam and water drips down onto her feet, but she cannot feel it. Is it possible to develop frostbite from a cold shower? She has never heard of it happening to anyone else, but then again, in this day an age that hardly means something. The floor is slippery beneath her numb feet. Soap is the cleanest scent in the world. Its pleasant odour disguises the stink of sweat, grime, and dirty secrets.

Four weeks have gone past since the order came. She has been preparing to break into the instructor's office, taking night time strolls around the grounds to make sure no one else is around after sundown. The cabin that serves as Shadis office has a reinforced door with a pin lock; easy to pick. She has not been able to identify any obvious traps lurking inside the office, and she knows where the file cabinet is situated inside. She is not sure what she hopes to find within those stacks of papers, but here might be something of worth.

She turns the water off and steps out of the stall. Her fingers and toes feel hot, as though she has dipped them in boiling water. Her hands are clumsy as she picks up the cloth to dry herself with. Her long strands of hair tremble, dripping water onto the floor. She hears a noise behind her. Someone is coming through the door; it creaks as it swings open.

Her eyes scan the room looking for shelter. No one is supposed to be here this time of day. If they come inside they will see... they will know. No one is supposed to know. Her eyes find the shower stall, but her feet will show. There is no place to hide.

The floorboards moan as someone steps inside.

"Oh... crap," she hears a familiar voice say behind her. She hears a 'bang' as the person grabs the door and slams it shut. Iris realises that she has stopped breathing.

Iris sucks in a shaky breath and turns around. Her eyes are downcast and she sees her pale feet. Blue veins pop out underneath the thin, almost translucent looking skin. She wants to cover herself with her arms, curl into a little ball of flesh on the floor. Instead she forces herself to look up.

" _Ymir..."_

Ymir looks at her, pale and wide-eyed. Her freckles stand out brightly on her nose and cheeks. They stare at each other for a moment, before Ymir averts her eyes.

"I didn't mean to... I was just... and I saw you went..." Her face screws up in annoyance. "I'll wait outside."

She turns abruptly and hurries out the door.

Iris holds one trembling hand up to her face. It was only a matter of time until someone found her in here and saw.

She dries herself slowly. Ymir will have questions, of course, but there are no simple answers she could give... Is Ymir her friend? Is it even possible for them to be friends under these circumstances? She puts her clothes back on.

Ymir is waiting just outside, and she avoids looking Iris in the eye as she comes through the door.

"We're getting together up at the fire pit. You coming?" Ymir asks. She sounds almost angry as she says it, and Iris hesitates before answering. Maybe she wants Iris to say no? Part of her wants to say no. Other parts of her say that she must confront Ymir now, or her avoidance will be equal to some form of capitulation.

Ymir finally looks her in the eye. "You new friend Knucklehead will be there. Come." She motions for Iris to follow, and she does. Together they walk up the dirt path that leads into the woods. The evening air is mild and warm but inside she feels cold, as if she never stepped out from underneath that spray of icy water.

Are they not going to speak of it? They could pretend that it never happened, just go on with their lives; it might even work well for them... But most likely it will not work well. Not speaking of something which all persons involved are thinking of usually births nothing but misery.

"What you saw," she begins, searching for the right words. "Will you... will you keep it to yourself?"

"Yeah," Ymir replies without a moment of hesitation. Iris would not have thought that Ymir would be the kind to gossip, but she experiences an intense feeling of relief upon hearing Ymir's sure reply. Ymir says 'yeah' in a way that implies that any other option would have been unthinkable. "Of course I will."

"Thank you," Iris whispers.

It feels like friendship, this tender bond of respect and loyalty between them. It is very different from the friendships she formed during her years at the Academy however. Those friendships were never easy, because they were probably people who would never have been friends if not for the Academy. There were seven of them including her, all part of the same unit, and for six years they were practically inseparable. Their friendship was never built on trust, respect or tenderness however, but on kinship and shared fate. She had even disliked them at times, and the twins had always frightened her.

It is not like that with Ymir. Iris feels as tough they are pulled towards each other, yet not connected. Ymir treats her like she is  _someone_. She is the only person Iris knows who would notice when her mood is sour, but without demanding to know why. Ymir understands that some things are private. She does not think that she has more right to people's secrets than they do themselves.

Ymir keeps her eyes on the path ahead of them. Her hands are dug down deep into her pockets; her walk is slow and thoughtful.

"So... what happened?" she asks.

Iris breathes deeply, wondering if there is any answer that would be anything less than dissatisfactory. To tell ayone of the Academy is treason, but without mentioning it there is simply no good way to explain.

"Is it not obvious?"

Of course it is not. Ymir is not asking for an intellectual explanation of how flesh sustains and heals injury, she is asking: "Why did this happen to you?"

"Who did it?"

"It does not matter," Iris replies.

Ymir smiles. Her canines are noticeably pointed.

"Was it a man?" she sneers.

The answer is not as simple as that. For the most part the answer would be "Yes", but it did not happen the way Ymir seems to be thinking it did. Iris bends her head to the side and pushes some branches out of the way so that she can pass through. It will be full summer soon. The sun sets late at night and rises long before they get up in the morning.

"You do not like men much... do you?" Iris asks.

Ymir shrugs her shoulders, smiling. "What's there to like?"

Iris would want to ask about Krista. What is so special about Krista? Something tells her that Ymir does not want to, or for some reason cannot talk about it. Everyone has secrets.

Ymir turns her head and gives Iris a searching look. "Do  _you_  like men?" she asks.

What a banal question.

"I... am not sure," she replies. How do you know? Is it something you feel, and if so, where do you feel it?

Iris looks up and finds Ymir looking at her with interest.

"Sometimes I wonder which hole you crawled out of, Bachmann."

Iris feels the smallest tug at the corners of her mouth. What hole indeed. The impulse to smile passes almost immediately.

"Knucklehead flirts with you, you know," Ymir says. Iris suppresses the urge to sigh.

"Braun flirts with everyone."

It is in his smiles, the way his eyes linger on your face as if it is the only thing he sees, in how he remembers even the most mundane details of whatever you have spoken to him about. In some ways he even does it with the other boys, although they don't seem to take it as flirtation but as camaraderie. No one is completely immune to his charms, except perhaps for Annie.

"Not everyone went into the woods barely on speaking terms with him, and returned as friends."

"We are not friends," Iris murmurs. She wants to say:  _"You are my only friend,"_ but dares not.

"Yeah yeah," Ymir says.

They are silent for a minute. Ymir looks tense, as if there is something she wants to speak of but is unsure whether or not it is appropriate. It must be very obvious in her if Iris is able to sense it. Are there many things Ymir wants to talk about, but feels that she needs to keep hidden?

"Krista likes men," Ymir says. Her tone is light, almost joking. "Don't you think?"

Iris feels a light pressure over her chest. What is she supposed to say? There is no way she could know for sure, and even if she did, the truth might not be the right answer in this situation. Sometimes people do not want to hear the truth.

"I would not presume to know," she begins, but Ymir interrupts her with a snort.

"I don't need that crap from you. Be honest."

Iris kicks the dirt. The collar of her shirt is damp and clings to her skin in a way that suddenly makes her feel uncomfortable.

"I think you are right... Maybe not right now, but some day."

Ymir nods. "Yeah." She sound calm.

Iris does not understand how she can accept something like that with such grace. It is as if she never had any hope that Krista could be hers to begin with.

"I know what you're thinking," Ymir says casually. "You're thinking I'm a quitter, and feeling sorry for me."

" _Am I?"_

"I thought that when people care for someone, they keep hoping."

"Bad things could easily happen to a nice girl like Krista. I'm hoping she will choose to live a good life. A long one," Ymir says coolly, as if she does not wish to make a big deal out of it.

It is the most noble thing Iris has ever heard anyone say, but why does Ymir say it as if she will not be a part of it? She would want to ask Ymir what kind of future she sees for herself, but something tells her that is another thing that is too private to speak of. It is better to wonder and not ask than to ask and be told a lie.

"I think I understand," Iris says.

The knuckles of their hands brush against each other. To her surprise, Ymir takes her hand and squeezes it gently.

"Good," she says, smiles, and lets go of Iris's hand.

She wishes that Ymir would have held on just a little longer. It is pretty surprising, considering how uncomfortable she is with touch in a social setting normally.

They are quiet the rest of the way to the pit. The fire is lights up the clearing, pushing back the approaching darkness. As they arrive Ymir gives her what might be an encouraging look, before she stalks off to where Krista is. As always, Krista seems genuinely happy to see her. Iris would rather not be seen standing here without direction, and when she spots a free seat on the ground beside Mylius she decides to take it. He sits close by the fire, bent over a piece of paper with a pen in hand. Iris leans in, and sees that it is a drawing of Leonie. He uses some form of crosshatching technique to create soft edges and hazy shadows, giving life and depth to the image. He looks up.

"Hello benefactor," he says and smiles.

"Is it the paper I gave you? How do you like it?"

His smile turns good naturedly, the way it does whenever he feels it is a little unfortunate that she just does not seem to "get it".

"Who else would just  _give_ paper away? It's good, nice and thick."

"I thought you might have purchased it yourself."

"Nah, I really needed to buy some new underwear. The wool ones were giving me a rash."

She feels a blush creeping up her neck, and wishes that he would keep some things to himself. Mylius only smiles when presented with her red face however, which makes her consider whether he is rather congenially teasing her.

Jean comes pushing through the group of people standing to their left, and behind him goes Marco and Karl. They all have cups in their hands, borrowed from the storage room no doubt. Jean and Karl carry an extra cup, and as they push some people out of the way so they can sit down, one cup each is handed to her and to Mylius. It appears that Karl is not only a tinkerer, but also a rather accomplished brewer of moonshine, and he had over time pilfered bits and bobs needed for such an entrapment to bet set up out here. The first batch of shine finished brewing today, which is why everyone was invited up here.

Karl pours her some shine from a metal pitcher he carries. His cheeks are rosy as if he has already had a cup, but it could simply be because the smell of the shine is truly terrible.

"I thought you might be too prissy for this," Jean grins and clanks his cup against hers.

She takes a sip from the cup, and fire explodes in her mouth. It sears her insides like fire, and underneath the intense burn of the spirits hides an insipid but bitter taste of something else. Iris grimaces, and sees her disgust mirrored in Marco's face.

Karl laughs. "Don't you like it?"

"You did not happen to... put your dirty socks in it, did you?" she says, holding the cup away from her face. The others laugh, but it really is not something to laugh at. You could get sick from something like that, surely.

"Relax, it's a herb. My da' calls it Absinthe, you'll get used to the taste."

Well... he was right about that. Halfway through her cup she barely registers the strange taste anymore. She feels perfectly calm, like her body is the reflective surface of a quiet lake. Her limbs are filled with water, and her brain hides all kinds of secrets and treasures inside its imperceptible depths. She feels light and heavy at the same time.

Karl teases Mylius for not being able to work up the courage to talk to Leonie. He has some idea that giving her a portrait of herself might be the perfect way to break the ice, obviously not at all aware that it might come across as intrusive and somewhat creepy. Jean and Marco are speaking of the future they imagine that they will have in the interior, once they join the Military Police.

Around her, people seem elated, taken with the night and its wonders. She smells the fresh air, hears their jubilant voices and perhaps for the first time sees her comrades for what they are – people.

She looks at Marco, whose eyes are brimming with pride as he speaks of the change he wishes bring into the confines of Shina. Does he understand that his dream of changing that which is inherently unchangeable makes him a dangerous revolutionary? The king he imagines is an idea, a god to worship, rather than a tramp dressed up in finery.

She is struck with the irresistible urge to take his dreams and stomp on them.

"Marco," she says. It is the first time she has spoken in over an hour. "You are aware of the operation to retake Maria that was enacted over two years ago?"

Marco is about to reply when Jeans sighs demonstratively. "Everyone knows about that, dumbass."

"Pardon me, but I was not speaking to you, Kirschtein," she replies, matching his pointed tone.

"Come on, it's nothing worth getting upset about," Marco mediates. He looks to Iris. "Yes, of course I know about it."

"Tell me what you think of it."

He ponders for a moment, and then shrugs. "I think it was a well intended but misfortunate operation. We underestimated the strength of our enemy, and it was a great loss for humanity."

Iris swallows half a mouthful of shine. She had wondered if there were actually people who believed what the king and his council had put forward to the papers. There is the answer, staring her in the face.

"Are you aware of the name by which Mitrans refer to the operation?"

Marco shakes his head. He looks uneasy now, as if wondering if the drink has muddled her mind.

"They call it The Purge, and it was a roaring success." She looks into Marcos dark eyes. "After the fall of Maria, the people's rations within Rose shrunk to one fourth of their original size. Do you know what wares are rationed within Shina?"

She looks from Marco to Jean, Karl, Mylius, before she lets her eyes sweep across the group of gathered comrades. Only a few seem to have heard her, but those who did await her answer.

"None are."

Marco looks down into his cup, frowning. "What are you even saying..."

"When Rose falls they will close the gates of Shina, and all of us will be left outside."

"What kind of bullshit is that?!" Jean says heatedly. "Wall Rose has stood for a hundred years, it's not going to fall. Seriously, this is why people avoid you. You're such a buzz kill, asshole!"

Iris ignores Jean and looks only at Marco.

"Do you know how many within Maria and Rose perished during the plague year? More than thirty thousand citizens. Most of the spread could have been prevented if the sick had been isolated, and many would have lived if they had been kept clean and been given fluids and nourishment. All this was known, but such a medical operation would have been very costly. His Grace and the council of nobles decided to close Sina to hold off the plague, and then they did nothing to help the citizens of Rose and Maria."

Marco slowly shakes his head at her.

"I don't believe you."

But the look in his eyes says he does.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, and she shrugs it off. "Take it easy, Iris. What are you hoping to accomplish?" Karl says quietly.

She notices that the general murmur of voices around them has quieted down.

What had she hoped to accomplish?

"You won't make top ten," Jean says, and his steely eyes glimmer harshly. "But it's no excuse to make the rest of us feel bad."

He walks away, and Marco only hesitates a moment before he gets to his feet and follows him. Karl gives her a look and a shrug as if to apologise, then he joins them. Mylius looks up at her, and she expects him to leave as well.

Instead, her surprises her by saying: "Sometimes, those two are a bit much. Don't worry, they'll forget all about it."

Iris thinks that just this one time it might be she who is "a bit much". She should have let Marco keep his visions of grandeur. It is not up to her to correct their world view, she is forgetting her place. She stares into her cup, hoping to find her wits floating about in there when she feels someone sit down next to her. The shine's surface trembles, but she does not know if it is her hand or the ground itself that shook it.

"What are you looking for?" Braun asks somewhere close to her ear. She looks up and finds his face so close to hers that she can see the hint of stubble on his chin. Too close.

She leans back a little. "The bottom," she says reflexively.

He hums as if contemplating this reply and looks into his own cup. Then he tips his head back and empties it in one go. She really hopes there had not been too much left in it, just imagine how many people it would take to get him back to camp should he drink himself into a stupor.

"There it is," he muses, looking into the bottom of his cup. A very literal interpretation of her words, true to form.

She hears the tones of a lute, and finds Timo to be the one playing. The instrument looks old and rugged, but he plays it well. He plays a slow melody in G minor, one that she has never heard before.

"You seem pretty uh, intense tonight."

"It is this..." She tries to find words to express how truly awful this shine is. "Poison," she finishes.

Braun chuckles as if she had said something funny.

"Most feel happy after a glass or two."

What a preposterous statement. Any feeling of happiness after a drink that had not been there before is tantamount to insanity – to believe yourself happy when you are not. She contemplates telling Braun as much, but decides that it would require too much explanation.

Instead she asks: "Do you?"

He just looks at her. His eyes roam her face as if it is a wilderness he has lost himself in. She would feel it was a bit much, if not for the fact that he looks at everyone that way. When it seems like an eternity has passed without him offering up any form of reply, she decides that some clarification is in order.

"Feel happy, that is," she says.

"Me?" He seems to think it over. His eyes turn up to the sky, and he runs a hand through his hair. "... No, not really. I think "lighter" is a better word for it."

It is not a bad description of how she feels. Who would have thought Braun could be so eloquent.

"Well put," she says dryly.

Braun snorts. "You don't need to humor me."

"I meant it." She looks at him, raising her cup. "To weightlessness."

They clank their cups together and she takes a sip. The bitter taste twists her features into a scowl. Braun tries to take a drink from his cup, evidently forgetting that he had finished his some time ago.

"Crap," he mutters with a strange look on his face. She puts her cup out to him.

"Here. I believe I have had enough."

He takes the cup, drinks and then puts it down. "I better stop too, before I start saying all kinds of shit," he says gloomily. The sudden change in his mood is strange. Perhaps she ought to ask if it was something she said. The things she says do not seem to go down too well tonight.

She looks up when Bertholdt comes up to them. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is in disarray as if he has been running his hand through it repeatedly.

"Hey," he says almost happily, and then looks at Braun. "What's the matter?"

Braun waves his hand in a gesture that Iris believes tells Bertholdt to "mind his own business".

"I believe it is me," she blurts out. Her mouth forms the words as if by its own will. Bertholdt seems confused, and Braun looks even more upset than he did before, proving her point. "I am terrible company," she concludes.

It is not like her to speak her mind, but one might as well admit what is staring one in the face.

Apparently they find this humorous because they laugh. It really is not funny, and she is about to tell them as much when Timo's song ends. Everything seems too quiet now.

She gets up and walks the few steps over to the log upon which Timo sits.

"Do you mind if I...?" She holds a hand out. His rather luscious hair falls into his eyes as he peers up at her.

"You play?"

" _Oh no, it looks expensive and so I wanted to touch it."_ But that would hardly be an informative answer. Besides, sarcasm is a weapon only terribly dull persons use to disguise their blandness.

"A little."

He hesitates only a moment. Surely he must understand that she would never damage an instrument, she is no savage.

"Okay, let's see what you've got."

She takes the lute back to her spot, sits down and looks around. They are all so happy. How they can believe the walls will protect them when Maria has already fallen is beyond her.

Her fingers pluck at the strings. She only knows how to play one song. She wanted to learn more, but Papa said she only needed to know the one. The familiar melody pours from her fingers into the instrument, not well, but good enough. She opens her mouth and sings:

 _They came at night_  
as we lay abed  
painting the ground  
a rusty red

 _Upheave the ground_  
tremble the trees  
while fire burns  
a fragile peace

 _A day of dread_  
ends with dusk  
and naught remains  
but a blackened husk

 _The land of sun_  
they came to take  
now silence rules  
in their wake

 _Though bent and maimed_  
silenced and chained  
we remember times  
when freedom reigned

_When freedom reigned_

The last note seems to hang in the air as the song ends. Iris closes her eyes. When she opens them she finds Bertholdt watching her.

"What a strange song, Iris," he says softly. His intelligent eyes are alight with interest. "What is it about?"

"It is about titans, don't you think?"

"I suppose," he says and smiles sadly.


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos!

**6:**

* * *

Night shrouds the camp in darkness. Stars dot the black canvas like distant search lights, and the new moon hides in shadows. An owl cries out, and the sound seems to reverberate throughout the base. Iris halts and listens as the quiet settles over the bunkhouses once more. The veil of darkness is so compact she could walk right into someone without having had any idea that they were there beforehand. She has committed the way to Shadis' office building to memory, and her mind will be her only guide tonight. The candlestick feels heavy in her hand, but she dares not light it until she is at the door.

She does not know the cause, but suddenly the hairs at the back of her neck rise up. The previously so reassuring silence beings to feel as though it is pressing down upon her.

Do you know the feeling of being alone in the dark? This is not what it feels like.

The darkness seems to creep closer. Iris sniffs the air silently, and the scent of night fills her nostrils. Is there not another smell present? She holds her breath. Someone could be standing there, still and silent, just a few feet away. Her heart beats faster than before. It is quite ridiculous to rile herself this way, if there was someone there they would have called out.

Or... would they?

She draws one long, silent breath. There is no one there. Her mind is playing tricks on her, insisting there might be danger lurking in the dark. She takes one careful step, her moccasins treading almost soundlessly against the packed dirt, and when she does not hear anything moving with her, she takes another step.

She leaves the barracks behind and makes her way toward the administration buildings. The hut in which Shadis keeps his office is a place free of all modern amenities and decorations. It is a wonder the man even keeps panes in his windows – a constant draft might do to sober him further. The door is the kind you will get splinters from if you touch it carelessly, and the ancient lock would cry "Come hither" to anyone whose morals allow them such ventures.

She stoops by the door, where she sets her tinder-box on the ground. She holds a piece of charcloth against the flint, and strikes the steel against it. Within seconds the charcloth sparks, and the smell of something burning fills her nostrils. She puts the little wad of char into her box and blows gently until a flame rises within it. She lights the candle, closes the box and puts it away, and then holds the candlestick up to the lock to inspect it. Nothing suggests the lock has been tampered with in the last two days. She would have executed the plan yesterday, but it had not felt right. It is impossible to describe in what way it had been "not right", but she chose to trust her instincts.

She takes the pieces of metal wire from her breast pocket, and is about to insert the longer one into the lock when someone speaks behind her.

"What are you doing?"

She stops mid-motion and turns her head, though she already knows the person behind her. Her mouth has gone bone dry. How long has he been watching her?

"What does it look like I am doing?" she asks, simply because it is the only response that comes to mind.

Reiner Braun looks at her for a moment before he answers. As always, no genuine emotion shows on his stern features. He looks from the pieces of wire in her hand, to the candle, and then to her face. His lips purse ever so slightly.

"It looks like you're trying to break into the Instructor's office," he says neutrally, and crosses his arms over his chest. It is not like there is much for her to do about this situation, except confess.

"I suppose I am."

"You know how to pick that lock?" he simply asks, still not giving away any hint of his state of mind.

Rather than answering his question, she replies: "It did not look too difficult when you did it."

"Uh huh. And what are you planning to do if you get that door open?"

"Go inside, obviously."

His nostrils flare a little, but there is no way to tell whether he is hiding a smile, or his growing impatience.

"You might want to be a little less cryptic with me, unless being reported is part of your plan."

So, he is intrigued.

"What is the one thing of value Shadis keeps inside his office?" she asks.

He narrows his eyes a little.

"Paper?"

Iris closes her eyes, slowly taking a deep breath. "And you suppose that I would want to lay claim to his paper?"

Braun simply looks a little confused upon hearing this, and in her frustration Iris forgets her apprehension. "I want to look at the records kept on the 104th."

His expression sobers, and a frown settles on his face.

"Why?"

"Have you never wondered what might be in them?"

He shrugs. "Guilty, I guess." he says, and his mouth curls into a subtle smile. He stands there looking at her as if expecting something from her, though she has no idea what.

"Well," he finally says. "Are we doing this of what?"

"We?" she blurts and drops the longer wire. He bends and picks it off the ground, easily, as though the darkness does not bother his eyes.

"Yes, we. Move aside, I'll get the door open."

She supposes that it had to be this way. By not choosing to report her he is already as guilty as she is, but she really wished he would go his way. If a pattern should present itself, it really would be best if she was alone to ponder it. Unable to tell him any of this, she moves aside and hands him the shorter wire as well.

"Reiner," she says quietly. He hums in response, supposedly to suggest that she holds his attention. "Did you follow me earlier?"

"Huh? When?"

"Among the barracks."

He looks up at her, with a flicker of what might be amusement in his eyes. "Are you suggesting I'm following you around like some kind of pervert?"

She refuses to dignify that with an answer. When he realises there is no response coming he sighs regretfully. "No. If there was someone there, it was not me. Was probably nothing though, just the dark making you edgy."

"I would inform you that I am not afraid of the dark," she chastens.

Braun gives her a lenient look, like she is a cat sat by a slightly open door, meowing and scratching to get through but not understanding that by pushing the door, she could make it open for her.

"I was just trying to make you feel better."

Make her? Are her feelings not things she is free to govern as she pleases? This concept of manipulating other people's moods in accordance with your own perception of what is good for them is, if not a little demeaning, rather inconsiderate.

"Let me guess," Braun says with a good-natured smile. "You find that offensive."

"Yes," she replies, a little angry to be told what she is feeling as well.

He chuckles quietly, but says no more about it. Within moments, the lock clicks audibly, and Braun rises to his feet. Without further ado he opens the door and steps inside. Iris follows, quietly shutting the door behind her. He stands at the centre of the room, flickering candlelight casting his face in shadow.

She had been so startled by his sudden appearance that she had not for a single moment reflected on why he was awake and wandering around, without a light too, in the dead of night. She halts, made tense by the questioning. He wears his off-duty clothes, cheap rags of dull colouring, and a pair of worn boots. His pockets seem empty, and he held no lamp or candle as he came up to her. Is it really true that he was not the one she had sensed back at the barracks?

He turns his head, and her candle illuminates his inquisitive expression.

"What's up?"

She considers pretending that nothing "is up", but doubts he would believe it.

"Why are you awake, fully dressed, wandering around camp without a light?" she says, foregoing flourish in favour of directness.

"Hm," he smiles subtly. "Are you suggesting I could have gone out without my clothes on?"

The thought makes her intensely uncomfortable. She takes a deep breath, straightens herself, and says: "That is not what I meant," with all the dignity she can muster.

"I'm just teasing you."

He shows such incredible proclivity for stating the obvious, it really is quite startling. Why do people do that? Is it because they believe themselves to be a great jokester, and as such, the only person to understand the joke? She ponders this, her face no doubt expressionless and rather dull looking, and after some time Braun sigs, although the smile does not fall from his face.

"I can't sleep from time to time, so I wander. It's the first time I've seen a light out after curfew, so I decided to check it out." He makes a hand gesture. "And there you were."

"Ever diligent," she mumbles. His explanation is plausible, and what reason would he have to lie? Well, except for all the obvious ones...

For a moment he looks like he is about to protest, but then seems to decide not to. Was what she said offensive in some way? It is not always easy to know. When he evidently decides to hold his silence she proceeds to place the candle on the floor, noting how even the rough hewn floor planks look to be the kind to give you splinters, should you commit the sin of wandering bare footed upon it.

"Let us begin," she says, and from the cabinet by the wall she grabs a wooden box, placing it on the floor inside the halo of light. Inside it files are stacked on top of each other, each bearing just the name of the person whose life is detailed within. She sits and picks up the one marked "C. Springer", just as Braun puts the other box onto the floor. He eases himself down next to her, eyeing the folder with bright interest.

"You never gave me a straight answer before," he says. "Why do you want to look inside these files?"

So he had noticed. Her answer will have to tangent the truth, and the lie. The commanders had told her she had an honest face, one of the reasons why she had been chosen for this mission, but she is not sure an honest face will be enough, should she start telling lies.

"Because I want to know the people fighting at my side."

She opens the folder, and reads that Connie has a brother, and a sister. Reiner leans in closer as the flip through the pages, until she can feel the heat from his body next to hers. They read mostly in silence, only asking to pause here and there. Some things detailed within these files must have come from an outside source, and Iris is left wondering what the contents of her file will be.

She is beginning to think this is a waste of time, and then sees that Ymir's file is up next. She immediately notices how thin it is, holding it between her fingers for a moment before opening it. Ymir's enlistment certificate is the only document inside. She gives only one name, her first, and claims to have been born in the slums of Karanes, where no records are kept on the poorest citizens. She has no family, no criminal record, and nothing to prove her identity. Ymir is a ghost. Her name could be an only gift from a long dead parent, or it could be a taunting gesture from an invading enemy force.

Iris closes her eyes, trying not to let her emotions show on her face. This proves nothing. Besides, there were two who broke through Maria. If Ymir is the one, and she has to allow herself to believe it might be so, then there will be another connected to her.

"That's a little strange, don't you think?" Braun says, and Iris flinches. It is not that she had forgotten that he is here, but her mind had filtered him out somehow.

Now she is made aware that he is sitting close enough for their shoulders to be pressed together. Even he thinks this complete lack of detail is rather peculiar.

"Possibly," she allows, reluctant to discuss it any further.

"Maybe she is not who she says she is."

"Or this just goes to show that poverty is equal to invisibility."

"That's true," he says dryly.

Until there is more to suggest Ymir, she will not believe it. She closes the file, putting it at the bottom of the pile on the floor. The next folder is marked "J. Kirschtein", and while his character is a mystery waiting to be solved, Iris doubts that this will give many clues.

She opens the file and stares down at the complete records of Jean's former life.

"Mm," Braun hums after some time. "Nothing in here explains why he is that way."

"I do not believe his secrets are of a nature to be found in any files"

"You think he's hiding something?"

"We all are."

He peers at her for a moment, as if contemplating his next words. "Even me?"

She breathes deeply, deciding not to correct his grammatical slip, and answers: "Naturally."

This seems to amuse him. Perhaps he finds the notion of someone having deciphered his character humorous.

"Okay, tell me, what am I hiding?"

"Your thoughts," she says, and his expression sobers.

"Maybe I don't think much," he jests, rather half heartedly.

"Oh I very much doubt that. Your comrades have no claim to your thoughts, but do not insult me by insinuating you have none," she says.

He looks down at Kirschtein's file again, seemingly deep in thought. To her, this state seems closer to his true nature, closed off and contemplative. She knows people have a tendency to search for pieces of themselves in others, and perhaps because she finds this aspect of his personality relatable, she should keep in mind that it does not mean it is more true than the other, less agreeable aspects of him.

"You want to know my thoughts?" Braun asks, tryingly.

While she is not averse to the idea, the look on his face gives her pause. What is this elation, this wilderness in his eyes?

When she offers no reply he seems to take it as a 'yes'.

"I think Kirschtein is a coward. An egotistical, trash-talking coward." He looks almost surprised with himself, and then gives her a look as if to say: "There, look what you made me do".

"I suppose it makes me a bad person," he continues after a few seconds.

His mouth hardens into a thin line as he dons his soldier-face, the expression that seems to say that he will shoulder any burden and bear any humiliation. Having given an honest opinion for once, he is fully prepared to be forever cast into martyrdom.

"Do you believe me to be a bad person?" she asks. This throws him off, and the stupid, suffering expression falls from his face.

"No."

"Well, as it happens, I too am guilty of such baseness. Kirschtein is afraid and shows no restraint whatsoever, which makes him coward. I used to think that, and worse, of you. If your definition of good and bad is as simple as that, then I would claim to be nothing short of beastly."

Braun stares down at her. Perhaps she should not have admitted to having thought ill of him, but she had thought he had already been aware of it. After all, is that not the issue they resolved during their field training? She notices that the outer corners of his eyes are downturned, just like hers, giving them a somewhat sad look. Strange that she has not noticed before.

"You really are rather funny," he says in a tone that suggests he means to flatter her.

Funny? First of all, his sense of humor must be dreadfully dull, and secondly, what sort of a thing is that to say to a person? Is she funny, like a cat falling off a chair, or someone saying something rather unfortunate at the wrong moment?

"Don't be preposterous," she says indignantly, giving him a withering look.

He tries, and fails miserably, to suppress a smile. It spreads across his face, gently, free of impudence, and she does not find it wholly unpleasant. He shrugs, as if unable to muster the energy to apologize when he would quite clearly not mean it.

 _Funny_... no one who knew her would say that. She is the person who either does not understand that someone has told a joke, or, in the instances she understands what is supposed to be funny, finds no joy in it. He meant to be kind to her though, which must count for something.

His smile begins to droop, made uncertain by her dark mood, but when he opens his mouth to say something she finds that she does not wish to hear any attempt at an apology, and speaks over him.

"You are next."

He blinks, and then gathers that it is his file resting atop the pile. He looks at it with a strange light in his eyes, and the awkwardness his failed compliment had cast over him falls away.

"There won't be much about me in there," he says slowly.

She feels herself tensing. What does he mean by that comment, that she should not bother looking? She tries to decide what to do if he attempts to persuade her not to look, when he speaks again.

"Well, what're you waiting for? Go ahead, I've got nothing to hide."

Any good infiltrator would make sure to blend in, seem plausible, until you begin to pick them apart. These enemies do not know of her existence, or she too would be easy to unravel.

She opens his file, and goes cold inside.

Reiner Braun has no living family, no criminal record, or a record of anything for that matter. He hails from a village at the outer perimeter of Maria, so small and unimportant that its name is completely unfamiliar to her. Her mouth is dry. It had almost felt good to have him here. His warmth had been comforting.

"Bertholdt is from the same place as you?" she asks.

" _There are two of them - the colossal, and the armored vessel."_

"We grew up together."

She nods. This is not really news, but she wanted confirmation of it anyway.

"I warned you. I don't think anyone really knew our home existed before the wall fell, and only a handful of us made it."

She must not let her thoughts show on her face. This is no proof, and she must remind herself that it is not. Her mind wants to find patterns, because it believes patterns will allow her to understand the world she lives in, but this could all be circumstantial. Braun's story is no more thin than Ymirs is, or Krista's for that matter. Only... there is  _two_ of them.

Bertholdt's file comes next, offering no new information. In a way it would make perfect sense. He seems the least likely person in the world, but is that not the ultimate choice of infiltrator, someone who seems like they belong?

"Are you ok?" Braun asks, and for one terrifying moment she does not know how to answer him.

She is not alright in truth. It strikes her as ironic that the people she would rather have spared of all this unpleasantness seem to be the more likely culprits; Bertholdt, Braun, Krista,Ymir... Gods, Ymir.

"I wonder what my file will say about me," she replies, as it is the only true thing she finds she can say.

He gives her a long look, and she wonders if he finds it hypocritical that she does not hesitate to investigate others, but would spare herself of the same treatment. She supposes that it is just that, but it does not change the fact that  _someone_  has to do it, and she happens to be this 'someone'.

"Worried?" Braun asks, and he does not look at her the way a righteous person would look at a hypocrite. Perhaps it is because he is not righteous... Perhaps he is not even completely human.

She had known the vessels would wear human faces, and yet, somewhere in her heart she had thought they would appear grotesque. Their eyes would be human eyes, only that if you looked deep into them you would see the monster hiding within. In her mind their voices had been flat and dead, their hands rigid and claw-like, and she does not think she had imagined them to have personalities at all. To her they had only been separate units of one great evil, sharing only one thought and one single goal – the enslavement or annihilation of all living things.

"You're about the last person I'd suspect of having a chequered past," Braun smiles, and he looks every bit like a real person... But with every such thought she betrays herself and her kin. The world has forgotten, but she remembers. She knows  _what they did._

She thinks on his words, dismissing them. If the king has kept the promise Karl Fritz made a hundred years ago, and has bent himself to the will passed down through his family, her file will be almost as empty as Braun's is. And yet, no part of her wishes to see it.

"Do not be absurd," she says frostily. "This is the only crime I have ever committed, and I expect that my file will be much like I am, which is to say, not much of anything."

He genuinely seems at a loss for words, which she, at this very moment, finds rather favorable.

She picks up Annie's file with some strange excitement. Where could she have come from?

Well, whatever she had expected, it was definitely not what she found. Iris barely registers her slackening jaw, until she raises her head and finds her mouth hanging open.

"You and Annie grew up together?" she asks, unable to hide a subtle note of accusation in her voice. He nods bleakly.

There were two titan vessels sighted on that day, not three. Of course it is possible the enemy sent more of the titan vessels, but how likely is it, when only two were seen? It seems more likely that these three had nothing to do with the attack. What kind of amateurs would have claimed to hail from the same obscure village anyway? Any trained infiltrator would know not to place themselves together, should suspicion ever fall on one of them.

Iris leans back and feels as though a great weight has fallen from her shoulders. So far there have been no conclusive evidence to suggest any of her comrades, and it should feel like a failure, but all she knows is relief.

She looks at Braun, wondering if she has made him ill at ease in her company.

"I thought her distaste for you was rather strange, but I suppose that explains it," she says in a gentler tone than before.

"You mean it makes sense that she dislikes me, because she knows me?" he asks, looking wilted. She is about to explain that it is not at all what she meant, even though it is exactly what she meant, when a tiny smile breaks on his face.

"I... would not put it in those words," she mumbles.

"No, but it's what you meant, right?"

She looks down at the floor, wishing she had not said anything.

"Don't worry, I'm just-" Braun begins.

"Teasing me," she finishes for him. He nods.

"See, you do have a sense of humor."

She takes Annie's folder and places it at the bottom of the pile. Looking into the box, she sees that only her file remains.

"I had a friend who liked to play games with others. Even humor can be cruel, and I suppose I distrust it."

She takes the folder in her hands, carefully, as though it is a viper ready to strike.

"Doesn't sound like much of a friend if you ask me," Braun says.

"No," she says, thinking how it confirms what she had already suspected. "I suppose not."

They both look at the file, he with what looks like wry amusement, and she with growing trepidation. Does anyone wish to see themselves reduced to a few lines of text? The folder feels light. There should not have been any trace of her medical records for the military officials to find, but who knows what their channels are nowadays? There are reports saying that Zackly is growing his influence little by little...

Braun reaches out and takes a hold of the file, and for one moment she grips it tighter. Then she relaxes her hand, letting it slide from between her fingers. She expects him to open it, but instead, he sits with it in his hands as if contemplating something.

"You know what? I don't need to look at this," he says. "Anything you want me to know you can tell me yourself." He puts it back into the box, takes the rest of the stack it belongs to, and puts them back inside. She does the same with the other pile.

Then they sit there a moment.

"Reiner," she says. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Let's put these back, get to our separate places, and pray that no one saw that we were here."

They lock the door behind them and put the candle out. They make their way back, and the men's quarters are the first they come upon. She sees just about nothing in the compact darkness, but Braun must be somewhere close, for when he speaks his voice comes from right by her ear.

"You sure you're not afraid of the dark?"

She snorts at the notion of it, and is about to reply with some measure of contempt, when she hears him chuckle quietly.

"Forget I asked."

She hears him slip away. There is the faintest sound of gravel moving beneath his boots, the creek of a wooden board as he climbs the steps. The door rustles softly as it opens and closes, and then he is gone.

"You're mistaken," she says quietly after a few moments have passed. "It is not I who is funny."

She risked a lot tonight, and it turned out to be a big waste of her time.

* * *

When her bi-annual leave approaches three months later, Iris thinks little of it. That is to say, until she receives a letter calling her home.

A closed carriage awaits her outside the gates of the base. Beside it stands a man she has never seen before - gaunt, with deep hollows underneath his eyes, and a humourless face. A closer look at him lets her see that his uniform jacket is adorned with her family's coat of arms. If not for that, she would not have known to come to him. He spares her not a single look as she climbs into his carriage.

She spends the ride home worrying.

The wheels clatter across the cobbles as they roll through the stone arches leading into the courtyard. Marble steps take her up to two vast oaken doors, which are thankfully open to her, as it takes three grown men to even move them. Inside, Secretary Gilles beckons her to follow him, even though she knows the way already.

The halls are deathly silent, broken only by the sound of their light steps. Gilles close to glides across the floor, as if he is afraid that any undue noise might disturb the daily workings within the building. They stop before a door adorned with a gilded plaque bearing the name "D. Bachmann".

"He is waiting inside for you, miss," Gilles says, rather unnecessarily.

She breathes deeply, and opens the door.

The room smells fresh of peppermint and lavender oil. Iris steps inside. Her father sits bent over his desk, surrounded by neat stacks of paper. His reading glasses have slid far down his nose, and the streaming sunlight catches his still blonde hair. The stern blue eyes find her with her head bent in greeting. She waits for him to speak first.

"Daughter," he says tersely.

"Father."

"Come, I would look at you."

She stands by his desk and lets him look her over.

"You look well," he says, putting his pen down with a weighty thud.

"Thank you," she replies quietly.

"It was no compliment. I thought they would work you, not just feed you. Well, what are you waiting for? I am ready to receive your report."

She struggles with how to word the phrase "I have nothing" for a minute or so before his patience is spent.

"You do have something to report," he says, as if commanding it will make it so.

"I have managed to exclude a number of individuals from the list of possible infiltrators."

He waits for more, but there is no more.

"Forgive me," she says. "I am establishing a sense of trust with a number of suspects, but the vessels are well-trained and careful.

A long silence follows her words.

"To me, Iris," Papa says and motions for her to come closer.

She rounds the side of his desk and stops before him, eyes still downturned in shame. He takes her hands in his.

"You do understand that this duty is an honor, do you not? Your comrades would no doubt have given their little finger to be selected."

She nods. "Yes."

"I understand most of the recruits, and therefore suspects, are male?"

She nods again. His grip on her hands and wrists harden.

"Building trust takes time, something we have precious little of. A woman however, has another weapon within her power. When used right, even a cautious man might forget himself."

His grip is hurting her now. She turns her gaze to his face, shaking her head in silent pleading. His hands, and his eyes, are iron.

"You have sworn yourself, mind and body, to the service of our people. You would be wise to remember that." He squeezes her wrists so hard she is afraid her bones will snap. Tears come unbidden to her eyes, and she bites down hard not to cry out.

Then, he suddenly releases his grip on her. She steps back, wrists red and throbbing. His face is expressionless as he watches her rub them carefully.

"Pumpkin," he says in a softer voice. "Forgive an old man surrounded by fools and imbeciles. I have faith in you, you know that. I only mean that if your investigation gets you nowhere, then this little thing, for it is truly a little thing, is a noble sacrifice to make in the name of your people." His tone is reasonable, reassuring.

She gropes for words that refuse to come for her. She has sworn herself to the cause, of course she has, but she never thought it would come to–

"There there," Papa pats her shoulder gently, as if that settles it. "It is not as if you will ever bear fruit from such union."

She struggles to maintain control over her face. Thankfully, he turns away from her, gazing down into his papers again. He dismisses her with a hand-gesture and a few select words.

"Now go. I do not wish to see your face until the enemy has been identified."

She obeys.

Once outside, she wipes her face on the sleeve of her shirt. Her wrists will bruise, but for now they ache and throb, bright red. The sleeves of her uniform jacket will hide them from view, which is good. She feels like screaming, which is less good.

"Well, well, well," someone says.

Iris looks up, and finds Valentin's beautiful face staring back at her. Auburn curls tumble gently from his head, and down towards his shoulders. A glossy lock caresses his brow, framing his high cheekbones and finely shaped jaw. His sensual red mouth is curved upward in a smile, exposing a neat row of white teeth. Tall and slender as a reed, he is almost feminine in his beauty. But his big blue eyes, framed with a haze of dark lashes, are like chips of ice.

"Look who is home," he purrs, voice soft and musical. He looks her over as though not noticing her balled fists, and face hot with shame. "You look splendidly well I must say. An unkind soul might even call you plump."

"Valentin," she mutters through clenched jaws.

"I suppose you have made your report. I so sincerely hope the doctor was not too harsh with you; we all know you are doing your very best," he says ingratiatingly.

She forces her hands to relax. He has always had a talent for knowing things he ought not to. He does not always  _know_ , though, sometimes he guesses, and reads the truth on your face.

"I had precious little to report. Any scolding I received was well learned."

"Iris, Iris." He tuts, and draws closer until he can drape a hand across her shoulders. "Always so good, so dutiful, a privilege to any parent. If only this task had been handed to me instead. If I could, I would shoulder your burden without hesitation. Sadly though, as I understand it, I lack the proper equipment."

She brushes his arm off her shoulders and begins to walk away. He follows.

"Now now, do not be prickly. I would never suggest such an honor would pass to you because you have a perfectly good scabbard for someone to sheathe their blade in. You are hard working, talented, and easy to like, everyone says so. I am sure your father's appointment as head of research had nothing to do with it either," he says lightly, almost cheerfully.

She halts. "I would go now, and I would go alone," she snaps.

"Oh, but I am of a mind to come with you," he smiles brightly. "Where are we going? Shall we go drinking with the old gang? I know, we could play 'Spin the bottle'," he purrs dreamily.

"Keep your games to yourself; I want nothing to do with them." She begins to walk again, slowly surrendering to the knowing that she will not be rid of him that easily.

"Games?" he asks innocently. "Sweet Iris, I would not play games with you, not with my dear friend. I am on your side, always."

"Good to hear."

He titters. "Your sense of humor is outstanding, as always. I have so missed your antics."

"Where is Cressida?" she asks, hoping to lead his attention away from her. When Valentin is around, his twin is never far.

"We are not attached by the hip you know. She has her own life, and I have mine."

Growing up, they were practically attached by the hip. The twins spoke a secret language only they themselves knew the meaning of, and they used it to play their tricks on others. They had always been strange children, but as they grew, their harmless games turned into the kind of play that left people's lives in ruin.

"Let me guess, she is currently knee deep in executing some clever ruse," Iris chances. "What is it this time, extortion?"

"I honestly would not know, you see, I have an assignment of my own," he says humbly.

Something in his tone or perhaps his modesty chills her. Now she understands where he gets his information.

"You!" she spits. "You are the one who has been following me?!

He grabs her arm, halting her. His face moves in until it is uncomfortably close to hers, and his smile is like a knife.

"Yes," he whispers. "And you should be glad that it is I, and not someone else who witnesses your floundering."

The thought makes her feel sick.

"How about we go to the temple to pray?" he suggests lightly, as if their most recent exchange had never occurred.

She likes the idea better than any of his previous ones. There, at least, he will have to remain silent, and it will be a great improvement on his character.

"I will agree to that."

"I quite like sleeping on the benches, it is such a restful place," he says carelessly.

"If I were you I would worry about angering the Lord through such blasphemous acts."

He laughs. "I really find it rather sweet how you believe in fairytales. If the Lord, then he has surely turned both deaf and dumb, and if so, what good is he to us?"

Valentin hooks his arm into hers, and having heard of the role he will play in her fate, she lets him, all the while wondering what kind of game he is playing this time.

They walk to the temple where, in blessed silence, they pray.


	7. 7

**7:**

* * *

She walks along the side of the main hall, choosing the wooden door on the right. The corridors, long and winding, take her deep into the bowels of the facility, where the servants' quarters mingle with dusty libraries and sparsely furnished lounges. There, and the end of a long, straight corridor looms the door she seeks. It stands from floor to ceiling, made of heavy, reinforced steel, locked and bolted from the outside, and always cool to the touch.

" _Oh?"_ she imagines Papa saying.  _"Is this task not to your liking? Forgive me, I took you for a soldier sworn to serve, not to question. Do you expect me to cater to your feelings because you are of my blood? Do your duty, or I will find someone who will."_

Of course, he would have had to see her to say all that. Instead he sent Gilles to instruct her on what to do before she leaves, and perhaps that is just as well.

She pulls the bolt aside and hears its deep clanging as it slides open. She uses both hands to grab the wheel that seals the door, turning and turning it until her muscles feel weak and heavy. When it finally opens, she finds herself panting. How in the world did she get it open when she was younger and weaker? Did someone help her? She remembers no help.

Once the door is open she turns to the right, opening the hatch to reveal the freight elevator hidden within the wall. Inside the cart awaits a cast iron pot, and mitts to put on her hands for protection. Before donning the mitts, she steps through the door and onto the landing on the other side. Her hand fumbles in the darkness along the wall to her left. Her fingers find what they had been searching for, and she turns the knob towards her. A soft whirring starts up, and then comes a sharper clang, followed by a flickering as the lights turn on. The massive mechanical behemoth Commander Schweiger calls a "generator" drones audibly, making the stairs she must climb down vibrate ever so slightly.

She picks up the pot and begins her journey down into the earth. Everyone always said there were only fifty steps, but to her it had always felt more like a hundred. At the bottom looms a dimly lit corridor. The tile on the walls and floor was white once, now it is stained with yellow and brown, giving the place a look of neglect. A narrow steel table is pushed up against the wall to her left, next to a stone basin with a brass tap. Leather aprons hang from hooks on the walls, brown and old and stained with something that age has turned an even darker shade of brown. Four iron doors stand side by side along the opposite wall, and in front of each is a grated floor drain. Each door has one small hatch you may open and peer through, and one hatch at floor level, just about big enough to fit a cat, or something else of similar size.

She places the pot on the table, next to a set of wooden bowls and cups. She pours broth into three of the bowls, and from the breadbasket to her right she takes three wedges of stale white bread. She fills three cups of water from the tap, puts the bread into the bowls to soak, and takes one bowl and one cup as she approaches the first door. There she opens the lower hatch, and uses a broomstick to slide the bowl and cup in through it. Quickly, she closes the hatch and moves back to grab another bowl and cup, all the while pretending not to hear the scraping sounds coming from the cell within the first door. She repeats the process once more, this time hearing a strange clanging that sounds like metal on metal. She picks up the last set of bowl and cup, and opens the third hatch, crouching as she pushes the bowl and cup through it. She catches a glimpse of the tiled floor inside, and the corner of a cot with dirty linens. A waft of sour air assaults her nose, heavy with the scent of body-odor, lye, and human waste. She shuts the hatch forcefully, its clanging reverberating through the underground corridor.

She should go now, quickly, but insted she remains crouched by the door, breathing quietly as if not to disturb some sleeping beast. A minute goes by, and then another. She hates this place; hates the set of stairs and this dim corridor, hates the grates because she knows what runs down them time and time again, hates how the piping moans and creaks at night.

"Hello?" a small voice says on the other side of the door, light and tremulous. Iris stiffens, forgetting to breathe entirely.

"Hello?"

Iris rushes to her feet, heart hammering in her ears as she grabs the pot and almost runs up the fifty, or perhaps a hundred steps. She hears the voice calling, again and again, all the way up. She reaches the top, flings the pot into the elevator cart, and slams the heavy door shut with a strength she did not know she had. As it closes with a heavy 'boom', blessed silence settles around her.

She looks down at her hands, only then noticing that something is wrong. They are red and raw where the hot cast iron has seared her flesh, feeling as though she has thrust them into fire. When she ventures to flex her fingers the ground below her heaves, and the sound of rushing water fills her ears. She stumbles and feels the wall against her back, managing to stay upright somehow.

"Itty bitty Iris climbed the stairs alone, went to feed the doggies and threw them all a bone," trills a soft voice. She hears his light footfalls as he draws closer, wishing he would go away.

"My, what have you done to yourself?" he says, sounding sincerely troubled.

He reaches out and takes her wrists, turning them over gently. His hands are smooth and cool, much like their owner. She recoils from his touch, yanking her hands away.

"What do you want?"

"A crown," Valentin says lightly. "A castle, and a cask of fine wine. Why, I came to see you off, as I hear you will be leaving us."

"Yes," she says, wondering who had told him. "I must get back to my duties."

"With those?" He indicates her hands. "You will need weeks to heal."

When she makes no reply he peers at her, his beautiful face inscrutable. "Do they," he nods to the door, "still frighten you?"

"Of course not," she replies stiffly. What a stupid question. "I was not thinking, that is all. I forgot to put on the mitts."

"And carried it all the way up while it burned your tender flesh? Oh, that sounds very thoughtless indeed."

"That is what happened," she says.  _"And you cannot prove otherwise."_

Valentin smiles knowingly.

"Did you see the new one?" he asks. "Such a small thing, don't you agree? Rather endearing really."

" _Small thing? Do you go down there to look at them Valentin?"_

"Oh...  _oh_ , I see." His smile widens "She spoke to you."

" _He guesses, over and over until he gets it right and when he does, you feel as though he hears your thoughts."_

The look on her face is all the answer he needs.

"Did she ask your name? Or perhaps what time it is, or when she gets to go home?" He rings the bell inside the freight elevator, closing the hatch as the cart moves.

"Please, tell me you do not speak to them," she says despairingly, though she already knows the answer.

He says nothing.

"They are not your toys." Her hands throb painfully.

"No?" he says, amused. "It is not like they have anything better to do."

"It is not proper, not  _right_."

He shrugs. "If I trade a few words with our "guests", so what? She asks my name and I give it, if she is afraid I soothe, tell stories, and if she hatches a plot of escape and dreams of me helping her, how is that my fault?" he says reasonably, smiling.

"It is wrong, they are never getting out. Never."

"Aye, but that is none of my doing, is it? All I do is speak, and if that gives them hope, well." He shrugs.

"False hope," she insists.

"What is the difference?" he says in a 'come now, let us be reasonable' sort of way. "I must say, your judgment wounds me, sweet Iris," he says, not seeming the least bit wounded. "Would you free them?"

"Do not be absurd, you know very well I could not."

"Oh I believe you could, should you really want to. But our people need them and we serve our people, for that is how they made us. So tell me, how are we different from one another, you and I?"

"I do not torture them," she responds, thinking she has had all that she can stomach of him for the time being. The pain muddles her mind, making it difficult to speak and even more difficult to think.

"No?" he says, blue eyes blazing. "But you know what will happen to them, and no doubt you would prefer to forget they even exist. However, if your version is a sweeter song to your ears then by all means, sing it."

"You do not know me, Valentin." She spits his name, finding the taste of it foul.

He laughs at this. "Oh, that really is too much, too  _much!_ I believe you would be hard pressed to find anyone who knows you better."

"Which only proves that you know nothing. I will be going now, please, do not follow."

She turns and hurries away, unable to avoid hearing his departing words.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you are somewhat ill-tempered? Do not worry, as you are dear to me I take it kindly."

She makes no reply.

The carriage driver receives her with a look that says he has seen it all before, as though a girls with burned hands stumble into his carriage each day, and takes her where she wishes to go with no arguments raised.

Iris steps through base camp's gates dazedly, pain clouding her mind until she finds it difficult to find her way, though she knows the camp like the back of her hand by now. When the pain from the sun's light against her raw, red skin become too much she seeks the shade underneath a tree beside one of the buildings. There she stands, staring at the grass by her feet. A beetle climbs one of the blades, and she wonders where it will go once it reaches the top. Can it fly? If so, it is lucky. She imagines all that would be possible if she could fly. The beetle's black, shiny carapace looks slick and oily, reflecting a myriad of colours across its back. Its antlers are clad with puffs of soft hair. Up and up it goes, until it teeters on the uppermost edge.

"Oh hey, there you are. What the Fritz are you doing back here? We thought you'd be back earlier," she hears Ymir's voice say hazily, as though in a dream.

Had the beetle's mouth moved? It is difficult to tell, it is so small. But it could not speak without moving its mouth, right? Do beetles have tongues and teeth like people do? She stares at it, fascinated that it had spoken with any human voice. Is it some kind of mockingbug?

"Iris?" she hears a lighter, younger voice say.

" _Funny, now it sounds like Krista."_

She hears a loud squeak. "What happened to your hands?" the voice says despairingly.

" _My hands?"_ Her eyes move slowly to arms that must be hers, until they come to rest on red, swollen palms and fingers.  _"These hands."_ She flexes her fingers, and the pain makes her queasy.

"That looks nasty. Come, we're taking you to the medics." Ymir's voice says, and when Iris feels a hand grasping her shoulder she knows that it is not the bug speaking. She looks up at Ymir and Krista, not understanding that she had not noticed them before.

They look at her funny but do not ask any questions, at least, not until later.

The medics apply a poultice of camomile, lavender and witch hazel on her burns, ordering her to change it daily.

"Why did you refuse the laudanum?" Krista asks in a troubled voice as they walk side by side towards the mess hall.

"I do not want it," Iris murmurs. The witch hazel has cooled the burning sensation somewhat, but the bandages have turned her hands into stiff packages, large and clumsy. There is pain, but it is manageable.

"But the pain-" Krista begins, before Ymir interrupts her.

"Since when are you her mother? If pain is what the pig-headed girl wants then let her have it, Krista."

"How will you sleep?" Krista fusses.

"Lying down, with my eyes closed."

The agents do not use opiates or morphine to dull pain. It is something you are meant to suffer through and learn from.

She sees Braun in the yard. He and a few others, Bertholdt, Eren and his friends, Hanna, Ruth, Leonie, Samuel, Mina, Thomas, have built some kind of raft. They are finishing up for the day, some collecting tools while others are turning the ugly thing over. Leonie leans in, whispering something in Braun's ear, and he laughs. He looks up and sees Iris, Ymir and Krista's slow going, and she thinks that when his eyes drift to her bandaged hands, his smile falters a little. Then Leonie turns around and looks at her, and Iris averts her eyes.

She sits down for supper, Krista having brought her a cup of broth and a straw to suck it through, along with a small wedge of stale bread. Her appetite however, if it was ever there in the first place, has deserted her. She stares down at the knots in the wood, hurting, but not as dizzy as before.

"Tell me," Jean says, sitting at the opposite side of their small table, "how are we supposed to trust you with weapons when you can't handle cookware? This might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" He laughs heartily. "You'll be in the bottom five by the time you heal up."

She barely hears him.

" _I think you would be hard pressed to find anyone who knows you better,"_ Valentin whispers in her thoughts.  _"... Anyone who knows you better."_

But he is a liar, a sly, nasty liar. She feels her face wanting to twist into a grimace. 'A nice scabbard' he said, and with the same breath he claims to be on her side. It is a lie, everything out of his mouth is.

She remembers Papa looking at her so coolly, blue eyes passing judgement. She had hoped for... What exactly had she hoped for? Praise? Gratitude? He asked for gold, and she had brought him less than coppers. Stupid girl, fool, to be hurt when she should have known better.

She flexes her fingers so hard she has to bite down not to yelp. At the same time she finds there is something just about the pain, something righteous. She thinks of stairs leading into dark basements, of doors leading into cells with no windows, and of a little girl calling out into the darkness, over and over.

"Hello?!" Someone bangs their cup against the table so loudly it makes her flinch.

"You're staring into empty space. Something wrong with you?" Kirschtein's eyes are narrow with suspicion.

"Forgive me," she says with stiff curtesy, wanting nothing more than to be alone. "I am weary and in pain. Please, excuse me." She rises, trying to use her palms to lift her cup.

"Leave it," Ymir says, "before you hurt yourself some more."

Iris thanks her and pushes her way through the crowded hall. Once she gets to the bunkhouse she goes straight to bed, curls into a ball, and lies awake all through the night.

She is exempt from training the next day. The head of medicine informs Shadis that she will need at least a month to heal before she will have at least limited use of her hands, and upon hearing this Shadis turns a worrying shade of crimson.

Her day passes in a daze, leaving no lasting impression. Ymir returns from the titan forest in the afternoon and pushes her into the cleaning closet, helping her change into a set of fresh clothing. Iris joins them as they go to the lake in the woods, watching as they enjoy themselves in the warm summer evening. It is why they built that ugly raft, it seems. They wanted to bathe and play while there is still time. They climb the raft where it bobs upon the water, dive from it and push each other off, laughing and splashing.

She sits on the beach, dressed in clothes that cover her from neck to ankles. Angry, red fingermarks are visible on her wrists above her bandaged hands, slowly beginning to turn blue. She does not like water much, but finds it peaceful to see the others at their play while she is free to let her mind wander.

Her father smiled when she was little. She remembers that he did, only, when she tries to summon the memory of his smiling face, she cannot recall what it looked like. Maybe it was the work and the burden that came with it that changed him. Mother has spoken of how amiable he was as a young man, good-natured and just. But his sense of justice had always leaned towards the inexorable.

" _Only a little thing,"_ he had said,  _"no fruit will come from it."_

Her bandaged hands rest on her stomach, at the place where those particulat scars are. As an agent, she is not a breeder. She had been six years old when she was selected and told of this condition of registration, and at the time she had not really understood what it meant. Later, when the time for completion had come she had thought she understood it, but that was all folly too. She is older now, and beginning to understand just how little she knows, and how little she understands.

The agents are sworn for life. In the early days, only boys were picked for the selection, one crop every ten years. When Commander Schweiger brought forth his mechanical behemoths, procedures that had been impossible were suddenly made possible. Now gender makes no difference, boys and girls serve alike. For this task however, it seems as though gender did play a part in the choosing.

She flexes her fingers, ignoring the pain.

Valentin must be mad to ask her if she would open the cells. To even think it is treason, and for what? They would have your head for it, whether you fail or succeed. Others would take their places, then another would take your place, and nothing would have changed at all. Who would ever shame their family with such folly?

" _He wanted the idea to haunt you, and you are giving him exactly what he wants."_ But knowing it does not change her heart.

She broods, fingers flexing painfully.

She does not notice Braun approaching until he is almost upon her. Her eyes have been staring unseeingly at a point that is not at the centre of his chest, and once she realises, she feels acutely aware of just how  _bare_  it is. People do not take their clothes off unless they are in the privacy of their own chambers where she comes from. It is not as though she has not seen bare bodies before; sometimes, in the warmest months of summer, the chosen boys had been permitted to train and bathe shirtless. She had seen the girls naked a few times too, and she had thought little of it... But this is not the same.

He plops down on the leafy, sun-kissed ground in front of her, and from this vantage she finds it even more difficult not to look at him.

"I realised I haven't asked you how you're doing," he says, as though picking up on an earlier conversation they had left mid-way through.

His hair is dripping wet, little droplets falling to his shoulders where they glimmer like gemstones. She flexes her fingers, subtly, so he will not notice.

"Well," she says. "I am well, thank you."

"Heh," he smiles a little. "Of course. That hurt, I bet." He nods to her bandages, and his eyes linger there.

"It is a nuisance, nothing more."

He looks up at her face, but she cannot make herself look into his eyes.

"How was your leave, good to see your family?"

"It was... eventful."

She really wishes that he would look somewhere else, and that he would just accept her answer and leave her be.

He does not.

"You're very quiet since you got back. Did something happen?"

" _Do not ask me that, or anything else. Just go away, leave me."_ She bites her lip, afraid that if she speaks she will begin to cry, and if she does, she might not be able to stop.

"I see," he says after waiting a minute or so. "You know, I heard what you told the others in the mess hall yesterday, about what happened to your hands... Gotta say, something about it doesn't seem right to me."

Iris pulls her knees up to her chest, and says nothing.

"At first I didn't know what bothered me, but now I think I do – It was what Jean said, that you can't handle cookware. " He pauses. "It's just - You're not clumsy, quite the opposite. And honestly, you look upset."

"You call me a liar?" she snaps, looking up at his face.

He looks at her kindly, as if he wants to tell her everything will be alright. That is what really gets to her, that he looks so stupidly... stupidly...  _good_ , and reassuring. She feels her face twisting, and she cannot stop it. When he sees it, Braun begins to shuffle his seat, and for one horrible moment she thinks he might try touch her shoulder, or put an arm around her. If he does, she knows she will not be able to stop herself from hitting him, and she will probably scream too.

Instead he moves his seat until his back is turned towards the others, using his body to hide her from view.

"If you say it was some kind of accident, I believe you," he says, slowly. "And if it wasn't really an accident, that's okay, you don't have to tell me."

She opens her mouth to tell him off, but finds that her voice has deserted her. Instead she lets out a sob, and just like she knew, once it starts she cannot stop it.

"I used to speak my mind when I was younger," he says lightly, as though he has not noticed her tears. "I would say whatever came to mind no matter who was listening. As you can imagine, some people laughed at me. A smarter kid might have learned to keep their mouth shut," he gives her a meaningful look, "but I guess I was a little slow. When people laugh at you and mock you to your face it's hard not to feel ashamed. I think you know what that's like, for whatever reason."

The words make her shiver.

"You know, sometimes when I am happy, I catch myself wondering when it will end. All these good things around us will be gone someday, because nothing ever lasts, does it?" He pauses. "This is probably not what you want to hear right now, sorry." There, he goes silent.

His face looks distorted through the blur of her tears.

"It was dreadful," she mumbles, wiping her face with her sleeve, wincing when she accidentally brushes her jaw with her hand. Strangely, the pain helps her focus.

"He- father would barely look at me. When he finally did it was as if he found whatever he saw so distasteful he could hardly bear it, and I felt so ashamed." She rests her forehead on her knees, wishing she could curl into herself.

"I just wanted to be left alone after that, but Valentin never cares about what anyone else wants. He says he wants what is best for me, and then, as if it is in kindness, he says the most horrible things." She pauses, throught swirling. "How am I supposed to save everyone, when all I do is wrong?"

"Save everyone?" Braun smiles subtly. "You're starting to sound like Eren."

She can only snort to that.

"And the rest, well... Pardon my language, but I'd say that Valentin is a twat."

She gasps, and ends up almost choking on her spittle. Coughing and spitting into the sleeve of her arm, she hears Braun laughing.

"If I thought it might kill you I'd have chosen a nicer word. I mean it though, with so much crap coming out of his mouth he must be a twat. Who is he?"

When her initial outrage settles, she finds that she rather likes that description of Valentin.

"We grew up together," she says, wiping away the last traces of her tears.

"The bad friend?"

She nods, but changes her mind. "In truth, I am not certain that he is bad, or a friend."

"No." He leans back, supporting himself with his hands. The he frowns, suddenly puzzled. "What did he say to upset you think much?"

She thinks about it, outraged and angry that he can just say the most vile things without a hint of shame, and feels heat rise on her cheeks. "Nothing. It was nothing."

She feels him looking at her.

"We should make you blush more often," he jests, and she can hear the smile in his voice. Much against her wishes, she feels herself turning even redder.

"Please," she chokes out, "I am sure that other girls like it when you say things such as that to them, but I beg you, do not play those kinds of games with me." She looks him in the eye, so he will know she means it.

For a moment he does not seem to know what to say, then he nods his head slowly. "Alright," is all he says.

They sit quietly for a while, and as she allows herself to relax she discovers that it is easier to breathe now.

Everything will be alright, she will make it so. What was it Valentin had said?  _"We serve, for that is how they made us"_ \- she thinks it was. How very apt. A...  _twat_... he might be, but he has a way with words, she must admit.

"Did your father ever strike you?" she asks Braun, briefly wondering if  _he_  would even feel it if  _she_  hit him. She somehow doubts it.

"I uh," he says, with an ambiguous look about him, "never had a father."

"Oh... I am sorry." She worries the question upset him, but at usual, Braun seems impenetrable.

"Why? It's not your fault." He tilts his head to the side. "What about your father, does he?"

"No," she says quickly, "never."

"But he did that to you." Braun nods towards her hands, and she is about to protest when he stops her. "No, not those. The other marks, the ones that look like fingers. A man's got to be strong to do that with just his hands."

Iris thinks on it. It is true enough, the men of her bloodline are all tall, and though not as powerfully built as Braun they are far from narrow, or slender. She nods slowly. "Many who meet him claim he is the tallest man they have ever met. He did not mean to hurt me, though." He know.s what might happen to her if she fails, and does not wish it for her. That is why he made those horrible suggestions too

"Okay," Braun says lightly, and she is grateful that he lets it go.

"You won't-" she stops herself, realising that what she was about to say could be taken as a slight.

"What?" he smiles. "Tell anyone? Don't worry, the fact that you have feelings will be our little secret."

She is torn between being grateful for his silence, and angry for saying such an incredibly stupid thing.

"Thank you," she says, and lets go of the anger. "Thank you."

He smiles. "I didn't actually do anything, but you're welcome."

It is not true, he did plenty.

She finds herself grown accustomed to his lack of proper dress, and no longer feels uncomfortable to look at him. Now she studies his broad shoulders, long arms and powerful chest. He is close to bulky, but when he fights he does so with surprising agility for his size and build.

"You are very well made," she says, letting her eyes wander over him appraisingly. He has good strong shins too. "Well suited to be a soldier."

Braun looks surprised, and then he turns his face away, gazing at a point into the woods.

"Thank you," he mumbles, suspiciously red around the ears.

After having met him for the first time, she would never have expected to feel at ease in his company, but here she is now. She looks up into the sun, and breathes deeply. The air smells fresh of evergreen, she realises. She had not even noticed before.

"I better go," she says, straightening her stiff legs. "I need to have these bandages changed."

Braun clears his throat.

"Do you-" he begins, stops, and runs a hand through his hair. He gets to his feet, limber as a cat.

"Here, let me help you up?"

He holds his hands out, making no move to grab her. She looks at his hands, only hesitating a moment before raising her arms, allowing him to pull her up.

"Do you want some company on the way back?" he asks.

She looks to the others behind him. The sun is still visible over the treetops, and no one else seems of a mind to go back just yet.

"Stay with your friends," she says. "Crippled I might be for the moment, but I injured my hands, not my feet, and I am quite capable of walking on my own.

For some reason, this makes him laugh.

"As you wish," he smiles. Iris finds herself thinking it is a rather good smile.

She leaves him there, walking to the edge of the forest before turning to look back. To her surprise, Braun has not moved. When he sees her turn, he raises two fingers to his brow. She raises her hand to wave once, turns around, and continues on her own.


	8. 8: The Dreamer

**8:**

* * *

It was raining the day she wrote the names. Names of comrades, names of friends she, no matter how much she wanted to, could not strike from the list of suspects. Droplets cascaded down from the skies above, covering the world in a misty veil. The clouds were grey as led, saturated and floating low above camp, seeming to touch the top of each tree and each tower. The world below these grey masses appeared dull and dreary, as if someone had punctured it, and now all the colours were leaking out.

There, in a monochrome doorway, open to the cold world outside, she stood. The envelope in her hand looked small and plain, but despite its size she did not bear it lightly. No one who gazed upon it would ever guess it weighed more than King Fritz and all his horses put together, but she felt sure it did.

The rain poured down upon a world older than memory. Now thundering gloriously green and full to bursting with life and loveliness, soon to shrivel and turn cold. Might be it was cruel long before mankind had taken its first steps, but while Mother Earth's cruelty is ever-changing, men's crimes are always the same.

Iris sent the letter, and felt the rain pouring upon her soul.

* * *

"Are you sure this is the right way?!"

Jean Kirschtein is prickly on a good day, and this is by no means a good day. With his sodden hair plastered to his face, and his sodden clothing plastered to his lean body, he drags his feet along the trail, stumbling and hissing like a wet, angry cat.

"I-I'm sure!" Armin stutters, red as a beetroot. He shivers, but whether it is from the cold or from nervousness, Iris cannot tell. He is usually not wrong about anything he ventures to say, which leads her to believe the fault lies with their map, not with their guide.

"You wail worse than a baby, Kirschtein. Outlaws near and far will have heard us by now," Ymir says pointedly. "I hope you intend to hand them your precious swaddling clothes, should they fall upon us."

Eren, walking at the head of the column, seems to find this amusing. Jean grumbles.

Iris sighs, adjusting her pack with aching fingers. Her hands had healed slowly, the fresh skin still feeling taught and sensitive to heat and cold, fingers stiffer than they used to be. She put ointment on them every day and practiced flexing her fingers while pretending it did not pain her to do so.

"Are you okay? Your hands-" Krista says behind her. She has made herself invaluable, helping with the application of salves as well as dressing, feeding, and washing her. Iris is not sure which part had felt more shameful, the feeding, or the washing. Neither had she ever considered how difficult ordinary tasks could be to someone lacking two perfectly good hands.

"Do not worry for me," she says over her shoulder. She hears Krista's laboured breathing behind her. The girl is small for her age, and this terrain is not easy to trek through.

"I could carry your pack for a bit, Iris," Karl offers. He walks behind Krista, spirited and seemingly content despite the miserable drizzle and the chilly autumn air.

"Relieve Krista of her pack if you wish to help someone," Iris replies.

"Oh no, I can do it. I'm fine," Krista pants, almost stumbling over a set of knotted roots and slippery rocks.

"You'll slow everyone down if you get too tired. Is that what you want?" Karl says with mock-solemnity, and Krista's mouth falls open in horror.

"Only for a little bit then," she says, and as Karl wrestles her pack from her shoulders she adds a "Thank you", so to not seem ungrateful.

Karl smiles the way boys do when Krista is around, and in front of Iris, Ymir gives a derisive snort. Up ahead, Braun slows his step until He and Iris are level with each other. Walking at his side is Leonie, her usually so glossy golden brown locks now a wet tangle.

"Nice dodging Lady Bachmann," Braun says, taking her pack without asking for permission. "Don't worry, you'll get it back later," he adds when he sees the dark look she gives him.

"I'll just go ahead and say what everyone is thinking," Leonie says to no one in particular. "We are not going to make it today. We should find someplace dry and wait out the darkness. I don't know how much farther I can go."

"I'll carry your things as well, Lia," Braun offers amiably.

"Oh, would you really? I won't be too heavy for you?"

"Of course I would," Braun smiles winningly. "This is nothing," he boasts, taking her pack as well.

"I am delighted to know we will never be in need of a mule so long as we have you, Reiner." Iris says, finding his mirth and boasting rather irksome under the present circumstances. "You are faithful and sturdy, more so than any draft horse could ever hope to be."

" _And about as clever,"_ she adds to herself.

"I think the lady does not like the damp, or the cold," Braun replies, but despite the jest there is something stern about the lines around his mouth.

"Just be glad we're not all spent and stumbling, Bachmann," Leonie says, always quick to pick Braun's side.

"You might have asked if I needed your help, before you forced it upon me," Iris says to Braun, ignoring the other girl's comment.

"You'd only say no." He shrugs. "You'd be lying face down in the mud saying 'No, no, I can do it myself'. Should I let your pride slow us down?"

In another life she could have been as large and strong as he is, and the knowing angers her.

"Spare me your false chivalry. Use someone else to make yourself look good, I beg you." She takes her pack and yanks it from his grip. The pain in her hand brings tears to her eyes, but it is not as though someone would notice a tear or two in this miserable drizzle.

She hurries her step until she is walking at Ymir's side, at the lead of the column next to Jean and Armin.

"You showed him," Ymir mumbles, giving her a subtle smile.

Behind them, Braun heaves a deep sigh. She can imagine his expression of noble suffering right now, seeming to say that no good deed goes unpunished.

"Don't mind her, you know how she is. Everyone tries to be good to her, and all she does is frown and sulk. I'm glad you're with us, or I might have ended up breaking a foot on this trail, lugging that damned pack," Leonie prattles.

Ymir rolls her eyes. "No one walks quite as well as you Reiner," she says quietly, in a high-pitched, girly voice, before snorting loudly.

Iris holds her silence, letting the words wash over her. They are not entirely wrong, and though it brings some amount of discomfort to admit it, what are words to her?

Another hour goes by, and by the end of it Armin admits their map might be defective.

"Great, just great," Jean frets. "You think it's cold right now? When the sun goes below the horizon the temperature will drop at least five degrees. Add this damned dampness, and we will be lucky if we get away with a cold. If not, we might freeze to death. I hear there are bears in these woods as well, and wolves. I don't know about any of you, but I don't fancy being eaten alive."

"Kind of ironic with what we're being trained for." Ymir comments dryly.

"You can get eaten all you like, I'm going to the MP's."

"If their commander needs a new horse, you mean?" Eren mocks. "Don't worry Jeanie, all horses are afraid of wolves, you might still have a chance with Commander Dok."

Kirschtein's face turns bright red. "Shut up, Yeager," he says in a low, dangerous voice. His hands ball into fists, looking as though he is itching to swing them at Yeager's smiling face.

"I have to agree with Jean in this matter. A bear will tear you limb from limb and play with the parts, while a wolf will strip the meat from you until you are naught but bones." Iris says, not sure why she has to be the one to defend Kirschtein. "A fire might keep them at bay, but wolves grow brave when prey grows scant. I would feel better if we found some kind of shelter."

Jean's sullen eyes meet hers, and if there is any gratitude there, she does not see it.

"Alright, what kind of shelter?" Eren asks.

"A cave maybe," Krista says.

"We could find a rock to have at our backs, ringing our camp with fires. Warm and safe," Braun suggests.

"Or," Karl wipes some of his reddish-blonde hair from his face, "we could just go see about that house over there."

Everyone quiets down, several sets of eyes staring dumbly at him.

"House?" Jean says. "What house?" He turns on his heel, as if expecting the house to have snuck up on him while he had his back turned.

"This better not be some imaginary house, Gebhart," Leonie warns, craning her neck to peer at the silent woods around them.

"No no, it's really there. I'll show you, come."

There really is a house, as it turns out. Its roof is overgrown with moss, walls shrouded in green ivy, and the window panes are misted with dust and grime, impossible to see through from the outside. The ancient door is spotted with lichen, hung on iron hinges so rusty they look ready to break at the slightest provocation.

"How did you even know it was here?" Eren asks Karl in a voice that is half a whisper.

"I saw the chimney," Karl replies, just as softly.

"Is it abandoned...?" Krista's voice is small and light. The woods around them seem to swallow the sound of their voices in a way Iris is not sure she likes.

This place does not feel abandoned to her. Old and neglected, yes, but something lives here. Whatever it is, it is probably watching them right now. Her throat produces a dry click as she swallows. A light wind whispers through the trees, making them sway and groan. At her side, Ymir stands tense as a bowstring, her mouth a hard line across her face.

"Let's see if anyone's home," Braun says, pushing past Jean and Armin as he goes stomping through the underbrush. Sticks break beneath his weight, their loud cracking echoing between the trees. Iris finds herself wincing with each sharp crack, experiencing a sudden urge to call him back.

"We should go back the way we came." Ymir says. "Knucklehead better not get us shot."

"No one would shoot us... would they?" Armin clearly does not relish the prospect.

"Look at this place. We're in the middle of nowhere. What kind of people do you figure those living here see skulking about, upstanding citizens? Outlaws and raiders more like, thugs and thieves. Don't know about you, but I think anyone surviving out here will be ready to defend themselves."

"But we are soldiers, our cloaks display the Training Corps coat of arms. Surely no one would mistake us for-"

"Raiders?" Ymir interrupts. "Sometimes those wearing a uniform are the worst thieves and criminals"

They all share silent looks. Iris sees no trace of pig or sheep around the hut. There are no signs of anything having been planted or pulled up which could sustain a person, or several persons, which means whoever lives here needs to hunt for their food. Hunters have weapons.

Braun keeps going, clearly not having heard a word of what was being said behind him.

Every place has a feel to it. Some places might feel like home, or like someone else's home. Some places will feel soothing, empty, grim or joyous. This place, with its ghostly stillness and backdrop of dead trees, only feels queer. Like being kissed by a stranger.

Iris starts forward.

"Reiner," she calls just as he reaches the door. When she realises it is too late to stop him she puts her bow up, nocks an arrow, and draws.

Braun turns his head to glance at her, just as his fist goes up to knock on the door. A look of surprise dawns on his face when he sees the weapon in her hands. He opens his mouth as if to ask what she is doing, but before he has a chance to, the door swings open.

Braun sidesteps, hands flying out to bow and arrow in a flurry. Iris's arrow wanders across the dark doorway in search of a target, but her eyes cannot make out the shape of the person standing in the darkness within. Braun draws and holds, golden eyes fixed on whatever lurks inside the house.

" _What is that?"_ she thinks wildly, eyes and mind struggling to put things together.  _"It is huge, bigger than any man, broader. Gods, it must crouch to fit through the doorway."_ Her bow creeks as she pulls the string tighter.

Someone climbs over the threshold, stepping out into the dull evening light.

It is an aged woman, small, and wizened. Grey, straggling strands of hair frame a wrinkled, weathered face. Her skin is ashy, lips so thin as to be almost invisible, and the woman's rather large blue eyes are cloudy. The way she looks from Braun to Iris lets them know that despite the milk in her eyes, she sees them. Her shapeless grey robes hang loosely off her body, and underneath them she might be bent or straight, thin or heavy set, it is impossible to tell. Her hands are bony, bent and clawlike with knobbly, swollen fingers. Her eyes wander to the arrow Braun has nocked and drawn. The woman flashes a wide, pink grin, showing four crooked old teeth still clinging to her gums. She cackles.

"I must be a frightful old sight, to have ye point yer arrows at me," she says, giving them an insolent look.

Rather sheepishly, Braun lowers his weapon. The crone turns to Iris, staring up the length of her arrow with the look of someone gazing down at a petulant child.

"And ye, fearful girl, why do ye look at me so?"

"Is there anyone in the house with you?" Iris asks.

The woman gazes at her stonily, seemingly unfazed by the prospect of taking an arrow to the throat.

"If I had someone inside who might protect me, do ye reckon I would have come to the door alone, girl?"

Iris thinks on this reply.

"Are you expecting someone to return, a son, or hired muscle?"

The old hag's pink grin widens. "Clever girl, but no. No one be coming to save me from ye."

"You are alone then?" Iris hands are aflame, but she dares not lower her weapon yet. How would a woman this old survive out here, alone?

"Oh, alas no. There be more than one roach sharing my home I fear, and fleas too, despite my efforts to turn them out."

"Swear it," Iris says, misliking the woman's shrewdness.

"And by which gods would ye have me swear it, angry girl?"

This takes her aback. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I hear there be plenty of fools eager for the blessing of those high, ugly walls. How would a wall bless a man's life, if not through falling on him, I ask ye? Seems to me that it is not the blessing those fools have in mind, though. Either way, if those walls be godly then why not trees as well - they have done more to bless my life than any walls ever did. A man may find the divine in so many places, inside a temple, a bottle, or a woman, it is naught to me. So tell me which lord ye serve, frowning girl, and I shall swear it by him."

Her lord's name must not be spoken here. Something about the woman's words irk her. She could just have sworn by Sina, Rose, and Maria, which would have been the obvious choices. Or by her father, people like swearing by their sire too.

"By the king, swear it."

The old crone frowns, as if this response disappoints her.

"By poor old Fritz, I swear it."

Iris lowers her bow, relaxing the string. The crone regards the group of trainee soldiers coolly.

"Now what might have brought ye here?"

"We were sent out by Instructor Shadis of the Training Corps, madam. We're on our way to the gates of Ehrmich, but got lost on the way." Braun replies, a picture of humble chivalry now that their foe turned out to be a shrivelled old hag.

"Madam?" The crone cackles "A silver tongue, this one has. Relax boy, I ain't like to bite ye. Haven't got enough teeth left for it to be worth the effort." She looks at Braun for a long while. Perhaps she likes what she sees, or she wishes to gage how he deals with being stared at.

"Who are you?" Iris says, glancing through the doorway and into the hut. It is still too dark to see anything in there.

"Heilwig, my father named me. Crone, most name me now, and I suppose they are not wrong. And who might ye be?"

"Reiner," Braun says.

"Iris," Iris says.

The crone looks her in the eye. "Oh, are ye now? What strange names girls have nowadays. Who might yer little friends be then?"

It is Reiner who answers her. He points to each of their comrades, speaking their names while Iris mulls over this strange woman. Once Braun has finished their introductions, the crone sniffs.

"Humph, so many nameless children at my door. Strange times, these are. I suppose ye be wanting shelter, since ye came to my door?"

The others come closer upon hearing this.

"We'd appreciate it, granny," Eren replies when the rest of them hesitate to answer her.

Heilwig the Crone peers at him. "Old and forgetful I may be, but I doubt ye are any blood of mine, orphan boy." Her mouth hardens into a tight line. "Well, do ye intend to stand there all evening? Come inside, if ye will."

She motions for them to follow her, and disappears into the gloom.

Braun catches Iris eye as she peels her aching fingers from the bow grip.

"Did you rush in to defend me, Bachmann?"

She had done just that, in fact. All these comrades who love him so well had just stood by and watched him go, and he, the great lumbering fool, at times seems to forget he is a mere mortal.

"You ought to be more careful. What would you have done if a band of armed robbers had answered the door instead of a withered crone?"

He makes a questioning face and leans in a little closer, speaking quietly to her. "She just put a roof above our heads. Maybe you shouldn't call her a crone where she might hear it."

"She named herself Crone, and I would wager she has been called that and worse many a time before."

"Never figured you for a gambler," he grins.

"That is beside the point. Did you hear her name Eren an orphan?"

Braun shrugs. "It's a pretty safe bet, and if you're implying what I think you are, remember she might even be wrong. Eren's father could still be alive."

"Could be, but is not," she insists. Braun smiles, as if there is something about this situation he finds endearing.

"Do you really believe in witches, Bachmann? Magic, and winged horses too?"

Iris hangs the bow on her shoulder, nostrils flaring.

"Titans rose from the ground and devoured my ancestors - how can you so casually dismiss the idea of there being more to this world than what we know, and see? Even you must notice that something is amiss here, or you are surely both blind and stupid. How does the crone fend off raiders? How does she feed herself?" With that verbal lashing done with she turns on her heel, almost smacking Braun in the face with the upper limb of her bow, and strides through the doorway.

The room within is reasonably large and square in shape. There is a huge fireplace in which the coals are still glowing red hot, as if their coming had interrupted the hag's cooking. A cauldron hangs from hook and chain over the hearth, and an appetizing odour rises from within. They put their packs on the floor, where weeds are sprouting from between the floorboards. The windows are as cloudy as the old crone's eyes, letting only residual light trickle in through the panes. A drape at the back of the room covers another doorway, and judging from the smell Iris would guess the hag sleeps therein.

"Ye might sleep anywhere on the floor ye like. Don't go touching the hearth, unless ye like yer fingers blackened. I'd advise ye not to steal from me, not that I be having much of worth, but it is ill luck to steal from a crone, don't ye know."

"Thank you for your hospitality, madam," Leonie says, shedding her sodden cloak.

"Relish the warmth while ye can, girl. I hear it is cold on t'other side of the veil. Though, perhaps I shall see for myself, before ye be going there. Hang yer cloaks at the rack beside the fire. They be nice and toasty by the time ye take yer leave on the morrow."

Iris puts her things next to Krista's and shrugs out of her wet cloak. When they have all relieved themselves of cloaks and other bits of sodden clothing they gather around the hearth, holding their hands up to the warmth emanating from the hearth. The crone watches them silently for a while, but once they settle down she mutters something to herself and wobbles to the doorway at the back, disappearing behind the cloth. Iris hears her move and mutter within, but it is impossible to know what she is doing.

"Hey," Eren leans in to Iris to whisper. "Where would the old granny get rabbit from?"

"Is it rabbit cooking?"

Eren nods. "She doesn't look like she could even set traps on her own."

"I'd say she looks half dead," Ymir says, a little too loud for comfort. Krista shushes her, blue eyes large and round and apprehensive.

"It might be that people come here bearing gifts," Iris muses, thinking of stories she has heard in which people buy their safety by offering outlaws a share of their crops and income.

They are all silent for a moment.

"Why would they do that?" Leonie asks. Her Stohess upbringing had not offered many stories of outlaws, it seems.

Beside her, Braun shifts his seat. He looks at Iris, hint of steel in his eyes. "Need perhaps, the old lady might be a healer... Or fear."

Jean stares dully into the embers. "I'm sleeping with both eyes open tonight."

The sound of the old hag's shuffling footsteps behind them puts an end to the conversation. She comes bearing old, musty smelling blankets stacked in her arms, dumping them next to Jean, who seems ill at ease in her presence. They land upon the floor with an audible 'thud', leading Iris to believe the old hag is stronger than she looks, or she could not have carried such a large stack in one go.

"These should help keep ye warm. Pardon the smell, they don't see much use as I dwell here all by my lonesome."

"Don't you have any family to come visit you?" Karl asks her. This gives the woman pause, and the look on her face is almost as if she does not understand the question, or is trying to remember something that has long been forgotten.

"Oh, alas no. Were there ever any kin of mine, they be long gone now. Gone yonder or gone over, makes no matter I think, gone they are." She takes a poker and stirs the coals in the fireplace. They sizzle and flare up, producing a gust of heat which rolls over them like a wave.

Eren's stomach growls loudly.

"Oh, ye be hungry aye?" the crone grins, gums wet and glistening. "I stewed up some rabbit for ye, once I knew ye were coming."

"That is..." Karl begins.

"Impossible," Jean finishes for him. "We wandered for hours before getting lost. Not even  _we_  knew we'd come by here."

"True, ye didn't," the crone says, cloudy blue eyes peering shrewdly at him. "But old Heilwig knew, oh aye. There be trenchers, and spoons inside that cabinet behind ye o'er there, quickly now, ye wouldn't make an old woman serve ye able bodied children."

The crone finds a ladle, Karl and Krista helps fill and pass the trenchers to each man in turn. Iris receives her breadbowl, but hesitates before eating. The smell of it makes her mouth water, but if this hag wanted to poison them, this would be a good opportunity to do so. Instead she watches her comrades eating, humming and talking elatedly; warmth and a full belly having cured their weariness.

"Pardon me madam," Armin says to the crone, "but I do not see how you could know we would come this way, unless the rocks and streams would prevent us from taking any other way?"

"This be no Mitras to which all roads lead, boy." The idea of it seems to amuse her. "There be other ways to learn what might come yer way. A dream it was that done told me." She smiles near toothlessly.

"A dream?" Jean's laugh is almost a cackle. "I dreamt I was the prince one night, and if dreams come true then you better point the way to Mitras so I can go there now. I think I'll like to sleep on silken sheets and eating roast capon every day, never having to worry about seeing any of you again."

"O no, boy, princehood is not what yer about to face. Other duties ye will have, and though ye be well suited to them they are like to make ye rue them. Some dreams are more true than others though, and mine are oft of that sort."

Jean snorts scornfully. "Do you think I'm some kind of fool?"

"Oh aye, that ye be still. One day ye might cast a shadow seven miles long, but it is not this day, boy. There be less and less who dwell around these parts, but they all be coming to me to hear my dreams. The Dreamer they name me, 'til I displease them. The truth can be a bitter brew, and dreams much like cats, not like to go where ye wish them to."

Jean turns to the rest of them.

"Do you believe this?"

No one seems quite to know what to say. Iris looks down into her trencher, feeling the hairs on her neck rise up.

"She made enough stew to feed ten people," she hears herself say.

Jean gives her a look that says he is not surprised to hear of her misgivings, but disappointed none the less. Braun's face is inscrutable, as ever, but Iris knows from his posture that he finds this queer, if unlikely. Only Armin seems completely free of doubt, and even Jean himself looks small and childishly uncertain, though he sets a grand scene as always.

"We are at a high altitude. You might be able to get a good view of the woods below if you have a spyglass. I'm sure you could have seen us coming. Sound travels well out here, and we have not been silent," Armin muses, more to himself than to any of them.

"That be one big mind you be hiding in that small skull, boy. Tell me, how old might I be? How far might these eyes of mine see?" Her cloudy blue eyes look into Armin's bright azure ones, and he seems to have no answer to that.

The hag smiles.

"I could brew some dream tea, if ye be willing to pay the price," she says, with the voice of a merchant advertising his wares.

Several faces darken. All across the cities and districts you will find fortune-tellers willing to sell you a tall tale for coin. Some read your future loves from your palm, some advise you in your economic ventures based off the look of a goat's entrails, and others see your life's ending in their tea leaves.

"You want coin?" Jean asks.

"O no, what do ye imagine I might do with coin out here? I only ask a price ye could easily pay."

"Well then," Karl looks to the rest of them. "What do we have to lose?"

Some nod, Ymir shrugs, and not even Armin speaks against it. She would have left it up to Armin to put an end to this.

"I think we should not do this," Iris says.

"Come on Bachmann," Leonie smiles. "What's the harm? I'd sleep a little easier, knowing nothing happened."

Iris looks at Heilwig the Dreamer, silently watching them decide their fate. The woman is eerily calm, but was there ever a fraudulent fortune-teller whose face showed any trace of shame? Iris bends her head.

"If you wish, let it be so."

"Well then, Dreamer," Jean says ironically. "What's your price?"¨

The crone's mouth twists into an expression of grim amusement.

"Tinder might serve me well, aye. A tinderbox is my price."

They all have a standard military issue one, but only the one in Iris possession is hers to give. The rest still officially belong to the Training Corps. However irrational the feeling might be, Iris feels as though the price is some kind of jape.

"I'll pay," she says, regretting the words as soon as they leave her mouth.

The crone takes the tinderbox from her outstretched hand with a mock bow.

"You just wait while the tea brews."

And they do, wait, that is. Once the pot of water is put in the ashes upon the hearth, it only takes minutes for the water to come to a boil. Meanwhile the crone gathers ingredients from several unmarked jars, putting them into a cup. She pours the hot water into the cup, and pauses.

"There only be the blood missing now," she says, looking from one person to the other.

"Blood?" Ymir says. "You said nothing of blood before. I won't bleed for some withered fortune."

Heilwig looks at her as if she has not quite noticed her before. "What old eyes you have, girl."

"Let me guess, a drop of blood from us all, the leg of a frog, a crows beak, and a spell in some strange tongue, or it won't work?" Leonie smirks.

The crone looks at her scornfully.

"Ye take this for some mummers' show, girl?" She snorts. "Any blood will do, red or blue, it makes no difference to me, and I need only a drop of it. I could use mine own, but I have welcomed ye into my home and fed ye from my table. Why should I bleed for ye as well, eh?"

"I'll do it, take my blood," Karl says, standing up and holding his arm out.

The crone moves up to him, and from her sleeve she pulls a small, slender blade. She takes his hand, and with the tip of the blade she pricks his finger. When a drop of blood forms she holds the cup out, squeezing the finger until the droplet falls. Perhaps it is only her imagination, but Iris thinks she sees a small trail of smoke rise from the cup as the blood splashes down into it.

Karl sits down, putting his finger into his mouth.

"Hee hee," the crone cackles. "Let us see what the dreams have in store for ye, children. I will sleep, and ye better not wake me. The dreams will hold me as long as they will, and it is ill luck to dream in wakenness."

She shuffles to the only chair in the room, a large old thing with spotted, rotting upholstery. The seat is large enough to almost swallow her when she sits down, and when her robes lie flat against her body Iris sees that the crone is nothing but skin and bones. Heilwig gives them one last look, and quaffs the brew. She falls asleep almost immediately, the empty cup tumbling from her limp hand.

After some time Eren gets to his feet, shuffling towards her like a man approaching a sleeping bear.

"Do you think she might be dead?" he asks no one in particular.

"She said not to wake her," Krista says, hurrying to her side without a trace of the caution Eren shows. "She is breathing," the girl confirms.

"We wait," Braun says, and no one speaks against him.

Later, when the coals upon the hearth have begun to cool, Iris rises from her seat, intent on going outside to see if there is any dry wood to be had. Without a fire, this place will run cold quickly. How the crone survives the winter, she does not know. She starts for the door and hears Braun's voice behind her.

"Where are you going?"

"I intend to see if I could find us some dry wood."

"You shouldn't go alone, no telling what's out there at this hour."

She hears him rise, and continues to the door without waiting for him.

Outside the door, the mists await her. The air is heavy with dew, alive with the smells of the wet forest. Up above, the moon has come out of its hiding, and stars dot the dark canvas of night. But what could have been beautiful feels strange and threatening to her. The air is too heavy, as if charged with something unnameable.

"Maybe there's a woodshed around back," Braun says, making her jump.

"Easy there." She hears the smile in his voice.

Without a word she follows him around to the side of the house, where they find no woodshed, and no chopping block.

"Strange," Braun comments.

"I will see if there are any dry branches to be had," Iris says, pushing her way into the bushes.

The wet underbrush soaks her clothing, making her shiver in the cold air. Her hands search underneath the trees whose thick canopy might have spared some branches from the wetness, finding a twig here and there.

A heavy bank of swirling mist drifts in over her feet, seeming to rise up in strange formations that twist and sway before her eyes, as though the figures are dancing. She finds herself standing perfectly still, staring at them as if they have bewitched her. Then she hears a soft whispering, like the voice of a child, chanting slowly in some strange tongue. It is so close it sounds as though someone is crouching just behind her, but when she looks over her shoulder there is no one there. The hairs on her neck and arms all rise in unison. It sounds like two voices now, coming from just behind the tree to her left, and the rock to her right. She holds her breath, limbs having turned to ice, as the whispers rise and fall in pitch, coming closer and closer.

She feels a hand on her shoulder.

"Iris?"

She jumps, dropping all her kindling. It clatters to the ground, and the whispers quiet for a moment.

"What were you doing? Were you looking at something?"

The whispers come creeping back.

"Please, tell me you hear that." Her voice wavers, and only then does she realise how frightened she is. Whatever is out there is calling her, and if Braun had not come she might have gone to it, in time.

He listens. "I hear it." He sounds surprised, as if he almost cannot believe his ears. "It sounds like... whispers. What are they saying?"

"I do not want to know." She gathers up her kindling ad nudges his elbow. "Let us go. It is dangerous to go alone out here, just as you said."

"Whispers isn't exactly what I had in mind," he mutters, but follows her.

As they draw close to the house, the voices within the woods go quiet. Iris looks down, and sees that the mist has stayed off as well, as if something holds it back. She marvels over this, and notices that Braun has stopped. She looks up at him.

"You're angry with me," he says, "but I don't know why."

"I am not," she replies, not entirely sure whether it is true or not.

"You are, and I'd like to know what I did to anger you. I just wanted to help."

"No," she says, resisting the urge to sigh. "You wished for the other to see you helping, there is a difference."

He seems to think on this a moment, and even in this vague light, she sees him frowning.

"Is it..." he begins slowly, as if the thought takes some great amount of effort to put into words. "Is it because I helped Lia too?"

This time she cannot hold back her sigh.

"Help whomever you like, it is naught to me. What I object to is being made a part of your show of benevolence. It is as if there are two versions of you, and the latter acts as though he cares for everyone, though he only cares for their opinion of him. Forgive me for saying this, but one moment I walk beside someone who has earned my trust and respect, a comrade I would be proud to fight beside, and the next I find that I have been made a piece of requisite, while you  _play_  at life and friendship."

It feels as though an age passes before Braun does anything but look at her coolly. Then, finally, he snorts, and barks a laugh.

"How concise. You can't just criticise offhandedly, saying whatever stupid shit that comes to mind like everyone else. Play at life, indeed." His voice is cold and hard, angry, wounded perhaps. "Play at life... leave it to you to throw something like that in my face. Those friends of ours in there would probably say I'm pretty alright as far as people go, but you, you saw the worst in me the moment we met." He laughs again, grimly.

"That is not what I-" she begins to protest, but her interrupts her.

"It's alright. I mean, it's rather funny... Sometimes I think you're the only one who knows me at all."

She finds herself at a loss for words.

"And they call me the gloomy one," she manages.

Braun sighs, relaxing his shoulders as the air leaves his body. "You know, the ones who say that really don't know you."

She frowns, somewhat confused and somewhat glad to hear him say so.

"Are you certain? I am not so sure myself."

"I am. You try to do right by everyone, in your own way, which does not always make sense to the rest of us, but the intent is there. Problem is that not all things can be made right. It's more complicated than that.

"You mean to say that we have to choose the ones to do right by?" she says, letting the thought of the real reason to why she is here weigh on her conscience.

"Yeah," he says, all the anger gone from his voice. "Sooner or later we have to choose, or nothing can be made right."

" _Choose,"_  she thinks sadly.

"Reiner, I-"

"Don't apologise." He smiles tentatively. "You wouldn't waste your breath scolding me if you didn't care, would you?"

It is true, but it makes her strangely embarrassed to admit it, so she looks away.

"I would not."

Carefully, he nudges her elbow with his.

"Wanna go back inside? You know how whiny Kirschtein gets when he's cold."

"Gods, we better hurry," she replies, looking up into his face.

"Was-" He looks uncertain. "Did you just...?"

She does not reply, but walks to the door, hearing him chuckle behind her.

"Oh you're back. Took you long enough," Kirschtein whines as they enter. "I hope you weren't off smooching while we were freezing our butts off in here."

Iris walks up to him and dumps her armful of kindling into his lap.

"I suppose you better make haste then," she says, refusing to dignify his accusation with an answer.

Kirschtein spits and hisses, but does exactly as she suggested in the end.

Iris nestles her way down beside Ymir, so close they sit shoulder to shoulder. On the other side sits Krista, who has fallen asleep with her head resting against Ymir's arm. Her face is so serene she looks like some otherworldly creature, pure, and innocent. At the other side of the hearth, Braun slides back down next to Leonie, who seems pleased to be back in his company.

Ymir clears her throat, and Iris turns her head to meet her gaze. Ymir gives her a long look, the meaning of which she cannot puzzle out, but says nothing.

* * *

Later, much later, Heilwig the Dreamer wakes up.

She opens her big, milky blue eyes, and looks to have aged thirty years while she slept. Not for the first time, Iris wonders just how old she is, eighty, or one hundred eighty. Around the fire her comrades nudge those who have gone to sleep while waiting for the crone to rise. Now they stand up, stretching their sore limbs before gathering around the musty old chair in which the hag sits. No one seems to know whether they should speak, or stay quiet.

Her ancient eyes are expressionless as they travel from face to face, almost as if she is committing them all to memory. Then she speaks:

"I have slept, and I have dreamt. Listen close, for what I have to say I will say only once." Her eyes stare right through them now.

"I dreamt of a golden child, one touched by the gods, lying cold upon the ground, weeping for the end of a dynasty."

She pauses, wets her lips, and speaks again: "I dreamt of a child of two worlds, riding a mighty carriage towards the edge of a cliff. The driver is the past that need not have been, and the future that never will be."

Another pause follows, and when she speaks again the sentences come faster, as if she is only a siphon, and now someone is pouring the dreams out through her:

"I dreamt of a nameless rider, swept in white silk. He rides from house to house upon a horse which leaves no hoofprints where it treads.

I dreamt of a man whose ankle is chained to a great boulder, and he drags it up a tall hill underneath a scorching sun. A swarm of crows wearing human faces surround him, screaming their names over and over while they tear the flesh from his body.

I dreamt I stood before the tomb of a bride who died a million deaths. In life she wed a grinning corpse, plucking a whip from its withered hand.

I dreamt of a star colliding with an ancient sun, each trying to devour the other. They shower the world in blinding light, plunging its subjects into darkness."

The crone falls silent, evidently having said all she means to say.

Outside, the mists rise, dancing to the sounds of whispers.


	9. 9:

**9:**

* * *

Autumn's veil shrouds the woods in crimson and vivid ochre, greens falling into slumber, giving way to browns and burnt sienna. The days grow shorter, the god of dusk riding his carriage of fire across the sky closer and closer to midday, chasing the pale sun from its perch to give way to darkness and shadow. Already cool winds turn icy cold at night, digging their claws into the walls of their bunkhouses to tug and wail. A lone fox screams into the night, as if heralding the fulfilment of a dark, whispered prophecy.

Iris Bachmann lies awake, listening to the sounds of the night. The name Bachmann means "Men who dwell by the river", and though her house has carried the name proudly through the years, it is a constant reminder that however proud, you can still fall. The other pure houses carry names much like hers, simple but dignified, echoes of a distant past.

She will need to get up soon. Today is Tuesday, one of the two days per week the showers will have hot water in the evening, not that she intends to make use of it. Washing only twice per week is some form of military barbarism, surely, and while her nose has gotten used to the odours of unwashed humanity, she will never get used to the feeling of putting clean clothes on a dirty body. Her collars have a dark ring of dirt where the fabric has rubbed against her neck, but then, so does everyone else's too.

As the first hint of light trickles into the room, she rises and gathers today's set of clothing. Her light footsteps are almost inaudible as she pads to the door, making sure to close it gently behind her. Her skin prickles into gooseflesh as she puts her boots on beforethe steps. Her eyes adjust quickly to the darkness, showing her the shadowy shapes of the buildings around her. Up ahead, the windows to the men's barracks are dark. She begins to walk, but pauses when she hears a soft click behind her.

"You'll get sick if you keep doing this," someone half whispers, half hisses behind her. "Remember last winter?"

She hears Ymir coming down the steps.

"You keep waking me with your fumbling," Ymir mutters.

"My pardons," Iris replies softly.

Ymir steps close to her.

"Why do you even bother?" she asks, hint of impatience in her voice. "It's been almost three years - they all know you're hiding something by now. They talk about it you know, wondering if you have some hairy growth on your back."

She presses her roll of clothes closer to her chest. Of course her behaviour has not gone unnoticed, she did not deceive herself that it had.

"Because it is ugly," she says.

"I didn't think you cared about that sort of thing."

The sky has lightened a little bit, allowing Iris to make out some of the features of Ymir's face.

"We are women, you and I," Iris says, though none of them would ever be tempted to forget it. "No matter how skilled or capable we are, we will never be men."

Ymir snorts. "Of course not. What's your point?"

"That it matters, that  _these_ matter." She motions to herself.

They both stand silent for a moment, then Iris feels a hand on her forearm, gripping it tightly.

"Stop saying stupid things, before you piss me off," Ymir says coolly. She pulls herself up to her full height, her tone hard as she continues. "I'm no great beauty the poets will write songs about, but do you see me falling down dead?"

"You are not," Iris protests.

"No?" Ymir says, giving her a little shake that makes Iris's head bob ever so slightly. "Then why would you be? Hold your head high, and let them see."

"I cannot. They will wonder what, and how-" she stops, and does not know how to finish the sentence.

"So what? It's a fair question. How did a highborn girl like you end up with scars like those?"

Iris looks down at the ground.

"I will not lie to you."

"Nah, that's not your style, is it. Doesn't matter how you got them I guess, but there's been enough of you sneaking around like some damn leper."

She tugs at Iris's arm, pulling her back towards the bunkhouse.

"You're showering with the rest of us today."

"Let me go, I will not!" Iris protests, trying to yank her arm free but Ymir's grip is iron.

"You will!" Ymir bites off, turning around to stare her in the eye. "You'll get yourself good and naked, and you'll wash with the rest of us with your head held high."

She turns again, dragging Iris forward until they reach the steps leading up to the door.

"You say we're not men; fine by me. We are better. If you survived that-" she points her finger at Iris. "Then you will survive this too."

Iris fumbles for words. She does not notice her clothes slipping from her grip until her shirt falls to the ground. She bends and picks it up, seeing dirt smudged across one sleeve.

"What if they laugh?" she asks quietly, imagining how she tries to cover herself with her hands while laughter falls on her like acid rain.

When there is no immediate reply, she looks up and finds Ymir gazing at her with a strange expression on her face. The taller girl shakes her head slowly.

"Just what the hell do you imagine there is to laugh about? And if they do, you will survive it, because that's what people like us do."

Ymir's grip softens until it is a gentle gesture, holding her up rather than in place.

" _What old eyes you have, girl,"_ the oneiromancer hag had said. Had her words to Ymir meant something - and if so, what?

Since that day, Iris has grown more and more certain that the old bat had played them all for fools. Heilwig had looked right at Iris when she spoke against letting the crone dream for them, and her price of tinder had felt like a jape. It seemed to her that the blood was what the hag had really wanted, and like good little children they had given it to her.

Iris had tried not to listen to the dreams, but the last one has etched itself into her memory:

" _I dreamt of a star colliding with an ancient sun, each trying to devour the other."_

It could mean nothing... or everything.

"Iris?" Ymir says, interrupting her thoughts. Shy light falls over the treetops, illuminating her friend's steely grey eyes.

"Okay," she says.

Ymir gives her a wolfish smile. "Come on then," she says, and goes back inside.

Iris sighs, but decides that it is time she face this.

Inside, the others are still sleeping soundly, all except Ymir. She sits on Iris's bed, already having changed into her uniform, looking towards where Krista sleeps. Iris dresses herself and sits down next to her. Before them, the little pile of sheets underneath which Krista sleeps rises and falls in rhythm with her breathing.

They wait.

Later, a man with a leather pack slung across his shoulder enters the mess hall as they are breaking their fast. His dusty, dirt stained uniform is emblazoned with the winged scroll of the messengers' guild, and his disorderly hair stands on end. From his pack he picks a stack of envelopes held together by a green ribbon, and begins to call the names of the recipients.

"Bachmann, Iris," the man cries and pulls a thick envelope from the shrinking stack.

Gravely, she goes to him. She does not recognise the hand that wrote her name on the front. Once returned to her seat she turns it over, inspecting the seal on the back; a shield displaying a cross half-hidden behind a rearing horse and rider. The high council's seal. Her mouth goes dry.

She breaks the seal and unfolds the letter within, reading it once, then again, before putting it down on the table. It reads like an instruction on how to best keep a wound from festering, but the formulas to calculate mass and weight have a strange look to them. While the penmanship is otherwise exquisite, the figures are crooked and blotchy, as though jotted down in great haste. She will need her astrolabe to reveal the letter's secrets, but her eyes know a substitution cipher when they see one. The figures are symbols disguised as numbers, each representing a syllable. Put the syllables together in the right order and they will spell words. She stares at the figures, slowly beginning to piece it all together.

" _Names,"_ she thinks.  _"The names I gave them have returned to me."_

The council will have investigated the people she named, and here lies the verdict.

She stands up, shoving back against the table, making trenchers and cups rattle.

"I shall reconnect with you at the training grounds, there is something I must do."

She leaves the hall, hearing Kirschtein complain behind her that she almost made him spill his hot milk, and Eren's snickered reply questioning what sort of man drinks hot milk to begin with. Once on her way back to their accommodations, she crosses paths with Braun and Bertholdt. They look like they might want to trade a few words but she hurries past them, offering some stilted excuse as to her behaviour.

Inside the bunkhouse, she pulls the astrolabe from one of her drawers and sets to work deciphering the letter. It does not take long.

"TM2I" –  _The second is a decoy_

"ABTQ"  _– Separate the blindworm from the adder_

"ZYX"  _– Eliminate all hostiles_

The substitution cipher names Krista as the second, which means that she has been cleared. And the others? The council must have been unable to produce any substantial evidence in the case of Ymir, Bertholdt, Braun and Annie.

Iris stares at the order 'ZYX'. So this is it. This is what it has come to. But they cannot be certain that all, or any of them are guilty, or there would be no need for her to separate the worms from the adders.

Could they all be innocent?

Why did the Council believe the enemy would come here in the first place?

At the bottom of the page, over the place where each of the commanders signed their names, whoever penned this letter writes:

" _The sun rises."_

She stares at the words, reading them over and over again.

With a jolt she remembers today's training, to which she might be running late this very minute. She hurriedly folds the paper twice, tucking it into the pocket of her uniform jacket before she runs out to join her comrades on the training field.

Accompanied by Ymir and Krista, Iris steps into the shower room later that evening. It is crowded and noisy, steam rising to the vents in the ceiling above. Iris drags her feet over to the far side of the room, wiping some of the steam from one of the looking glasses. A sullen faced girl looks at her through the glass, her ashy blonde hair still damp with sweat from today's work. Iris scowls, turning from the looking glass and begins to undress. It had been a trying day. No matter where she looked there were Ymir, or Braun, or Bertholdt. Even Annie.

Iris steps into a shower stall and lets the warm water run over her skin. It feels good, soothing. She works the soap over her body and into her hair, enjoying the clean smell.

How had they cleared Krista?

She had been handed over to an orphanage who put her to work in 845, shortly after the wall fell.

" _Do they know who Krista is? Who is she?"_

Iris steps out of the shower stall, picking a towel from the shelves by the wall and begins to dry herself when she notices the quiet all around her. Looking up, she sees comrades who seem to have paused in the middle of what they were doing, whether it be dressing, chattering or brushing their hair, now frozen with their gazes turned to her, as if waiting for her to say or do something. Iris straightens her spine.

Is  _this_  what she feared all these years?

She bends and continues towelling herself, and at once the spell is broken. Mina and Hannah pick up on their conversation, Ruth combs the tangles from her hair, Sandra, Leonie, and Agnes put their heads together, giggling at some private joke of theirs. Mikasa walks out the door. Annie stands by one of the sinks, a towel wrapped around her wet hair. Through these years, Iris and Annie have never truly spoken to one another, perhaps because they are equally sullen and quiet. The only thing Iris feels she knows of her blonde comrade is that Annie hides all she is beneath that blank stare of hers. She is looking at Iris now, unsurprised, as if she has only waited for confirmation of something she has known all along.

Of all their reactions, Annie's is the only one to make her feel uneasy. Iris finishes quickly, slipping into a set of fresh clothing before gathering her things in her arms. Sasha comes through the door just as she is ready to leave, having missed all that did or did not transpire just a few moments ago.

Iris tries to be sociable as they sit together atop their beds before lights-out, excusing herself early so that she may crawl underneath her blankets.

" _Did the Council set Papa aside?"_

She pulls her knees up to her chest. There is no point in thinking about this now. The Council has ruled for ages, their knowledge of old being passed down through the generations with the outmost care. They know best.

Iris quiets her mind, and sleeps.

* * *

The sun hangs in the sky like a massive, ripe plum; its light gives little warmth. The light, chilly breeze tugs at the sleeves of her jacket, setting her hair to flapping around her face. Again and again she tucks the long strands back behind her ears, only to have them fly back out moments later. It is their day off, and she spent the morning cleaning the floors of the mess hall and the kitchens. Now she walks along one of the trails circling the training ground. Dusk will be upon her soon, and then the cool winter's darkness.

She climbs a small hill to the sounds of crows cawing and rustling the branches of the trees, loudly snapping at each other. The path forks up ahead, the path to the left leading up to the fire pit in the woods, while the path to the right leads through the outskirts of the titan forest before looping back to camp. She decides to go right, and as she enters into the dense forest the world around her seems to go a little darker. The leafy canopy has withered and fallen, turning the naked branches into sharp needles pointing to the heavens in accusation of the darkness and the grim cold, but the evergreens rise tall and thick in this area. Up ahead lies a massive rock, the path turning around it. In this light it almost looks like a sleeping titan, though of course, titans do not sleep. She walks around it, noting that it is indeed just a harmless rock. The woods beyond it open up a little, evergreens creeping back while the naked leafy trees stand far apart, letting the light reach the ground below.

Iris slows her pace, and stops.

Braun and Leonie are standing close together not far from her position. They have not seen her. Braun says something, making Leonie flick her hair and laugh. She replies, taking an almost unnoticeable step closer to Braun, standing so close she must be able to see the down on his upper lip.

Iris stands rooted on the spot.

This is private, not something for her eyes to see. She does not want to see it either. She should go,  _now_ , quickly before they notice her, but her muscles have turned to rigid ice. She looks as the pretty brunette beckoning Braun closer, tip-toeing to whisper something in his ear as he leans closer to her, her hand settling on his arm. Braun listens, smiling that coy, catlike smile of his. Leonie pulls back ever so slightly, their faces now only inches apart, close enough to- But to her horror, as if sensing that Iris is there, Braun looks up. Their eyes meet, Leonie turning too to see what stole his attention.

She should have left while there was time, and now it is too late to take it back.

She turns around, bitterly wishing she gone another way, her face burning with shame as she walks back the way she came. They should not have gone here if they were going to- Any poor soul might run into them, not that Braun would care, big, stupid peasant that he is. Plebs have no sense of modesty or privacy, everyone knows that. Even so it would only be decent to make sure they were truly alone before engaging in their frivolous pursuits, so that those such as her, with much more important, life-altering things to consider, do not have to become unwilling witnesses.

Her foot tangles in something, perhaps a tree branch, or a rock, or her other foot, and she stumbles, almost falling. With some effort she rights herself and halts, her hands closing to fists at her sides as she listens to her rapid breathing.

" _This is irrational, if anyone should feel ashamed it is he, the great philandering oaf."_

She is waiting for her heart to slow when she hears steps on the path behind her. As there are no good bushes to hide behind, and she simply refuses to disgrace herself by running away, she decides to face whichever of them is coming her way.

"Iris?"

It is he, the great oaf. She begins to walk

"There you are," he says, coming up next to her, face blank as though nothing is amiss. "Where are you going?"

It is not any question she had expected to hear from him right now, as it should be plainly obvious to him that she is making a very tactical retreat.

"I do not know," she replies, too syumped to come up with anything better.

"Mind if I come?"

"Not at all," she says, regretting it the moment it slips out of her. Stupid, empty courtesies.

They walk in silence. Pressing silence. The image of Leonie's hand on his arm, leaning into him, has etched itself into her memory. When she tries to think of something else, she instead finds herself thinking of how it seems more and more likely that Braun is the one she is looking for.

She could believe it of him... She really could. And yet, the more accepting she is of the thought, the more she finds herself questioning everything she knows. Braun is not what the stories told of, and neither is Bertholdt or Annie, who must also be enemies from beyond.

Braun clears his throat.

"Did you enjoy the view?" he says.

Does he imagine this is the time for japes?

"If you mean to imply that I was spying on you, I would inform you that I was out for a walk when I chanced upon you and... and her," she says indignantly.

He chuckles as though this is all terribly amusing, a coy smile spreading across his face.

"Me and her?" he says playfully. "Just what do you imagine we were doing?"

She feels her face heating up. "Do not play coy with me Braun, I saw that you were about to- about to-" She fumbles for words. "You two were-"

"Kissing?" he suggests lightly.

Of course she had meant that, as he very well knows. She pushes her lips together, looking straight ahead of her. Braun sighs.

"You've got this all wrong-"

"It is alright, you have nothing you need to explain to me," she interrupts. "Who you do what with is up to you, but pick somewhere private next time, I beg you. These trails are for walking."

Braun sighs again, and she could almost swear he rolls his eyes, mouth twisting disapprovingly.

"We were not kissing, Bachmann. It's not like that- not with  _her_."

Iris frowns.

"What? Is it not? I do not think she knows that," she says, quite earnestly. And who could blame her? It would be easy to fall for Braun's charm, to believe you are special just because he looks at you like you might be, seeming to find everything you say interesting.

"Doesn't she?" Braun muses, pausing before he continues. "A good guy would tell her, right?"

Iris looks at him, noting that his mood has darkened somewhat. Seems he at least finds that to be no laughing matter.

"I believe the more important question is – What will you do?" she asks.

When they receive their final grades, Braun will be at the top of the list just behind Mikasa, she has no doubt. He and Bertholdt have declared their intent to join the Military Police – another thing pointing to their guilt. She however, will not reach the top of the list. In other words, upon graduation they will go somewhere she cannot follow. Someone else would need to be sent to finish this. That would be better... would it not?

"You're right, I should have told her so already. I will."

He looks ahead but seems to take no note of what is in front of him, eyes far away. His hands are carelessly shoved into his pockets, but his posture suggests something other than carelessness.

"Is something amiss?" she asks.

"Huh?"

"You seem troubled."

He blinks at her, puzzled at first, then hesitant.

"I... guess you could say that." He hesitates again. She waits for him to continue, if that is his wish. "I've been so dead set on reaching my goal, and now that I'm close to reaching it I feel conflicted," he continues slowly, tryingly. "It's like I'm being pulled in different directions."

" _Conflicted,"_ she thinks, well aware that she is thinking more of herself than of him in that particular instance.  _"Lost."_

"I think I might understand," she murmurs.

"Do you?" He looks into her eyes.

"Yes."

She looks away. "I think it is perfectly human to not know the way, to want too much, and to lose faith. Why should you be any different?"

Even if he is the enemy, he is still mostly human. She knows that now. The stories she was told as a child, the heroes she looked up to, her father and her tutors, all neglected to mention that the monsters they would face were men like all others; moral men doing their duty to lord and land... A jape, if ever there was one.

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" he asks in a lighter tone.

She shrugs. "No, I... I am not very good with offering comfort, I suppose."

"I was joking," he says, offering her a small, lopsided smile.

She had suspected as much, although the timing is rather inappropriate. At times she thinks he does it thoughtlessly, other times she is convinced he does it on purpose.

His knuckles brush against hers, making her flinch. She expects him to make some jest of this too, but he looks straight ahead as though he did not notice... But, he must have noticed, surely?

She frowns.

"Iris, I uh-" he trails off, as if forgetting what it was he was about to say. He throws her a glace, but does not continue.

She waits, but nothing more comes out of his mouth. The silence becomes unbearable.

"Yes?" It somewhat annoys her that she is indeed curious of what he was about to say.

"Ah, nothing." He runs a hand through his hair, smiling rather sheepishly. "I was just - Nothing."

"Alright." If he wants to play that game, let him. "I was planning to study for our final exam. Would you like to join me?"

"Oh," he seems mildly surprised by her invitation. "Yeah, I'd like that."

She looks up into his hazel eyes. Let someone else do it, if it needs to be done.

She turns to look ahead, trying not to think of tomorrow, or what comes after.


	10. 10

** 10 **

* * *

"A hundred years ago His Grace the magnanimous King Fritz raised these walls to save what remained of the human race. It is by the valor and sacrifice of all those who died that we stand here today."

Gerold Stricker, High Commander of the Training Corps, is a middle aged man with a dry, weathered face. His limp blonde hair comes down to a widow's peak upon his brow, below which small, pale eyes are situated close together. His long, hooked nose looks as made for condescending sniffs and his thin, pale lips, are shaped into a perpetual frown, never having known how to smile to begin with.

"We were gifted one hundred years of peace, but those blessed days are now ended. We have paid the price of complacency with tragedy," he continues, letting his gaze sweep across the rows of trainee soldiers.

Iris straightens her spine a little more. The bright sunlight stings her eyes, forcing her to squint in order to see the commander. Behind him, Keith Shadis' face is a mask of indifference. He has seen them through training with endless enthusiasm, if his grim determination could be categorized as such, and she thinks there should be those among her comrades he regrets sending out onto the stations and battlements. As the former commander of the Survey Corps, perhaps he regrets Eren Yeager most of all.

When removing him from his office the King's Armed Forces had stripped Shadis of all but his thousand-meter stare, bestowing the honour upon his second in command, the humbly born eccentric, Erwin Smith. This unprecedented course of action cast Shadis as the only man in the history of the Survey Corps to be relieved of his duties with all his parts intact, allowing Erwin Smith to rise to a station that was both beyond his birth, and by any normal means out of each due to the rather unfortunate circumstances of his father's death – Kept a well-guarded secret due to the nature of his treasons.

His Gracious Majesty at the time, unlike the King Fritz of old, had fully intended to keep the knowledge of such dealings and others like it from The Council, but much like mice, mites and fleas they were and are capable of getting into just about anything, effectively thwarting such efforts.

"Devote your hearts!" Stricker cries, and with a resounding "Yes sir!" they salute him.

It is time to announce the top ten graduates from their division, and at her side Reiner Braun readies himself to step forward into the limelight. He had claimed the spot beside her with casual arrogance, giving her one of his slow, leisurely smiles. Tall and gainly in his pristine crinkle-free uniform, his angular face set in a serious expression, golden hair brushed and gleaming, he is simply magnificent; a picture off of a recruitment poster. The saviour of mankind.

He had professed such delusions to her once. It had struck her as a child's fantasy back then, but she has since gleaned the inexorable sort of character which might raise or flatten empires residing within that great husk beside her. Upon its face shines all the virtues of mankind, and she no longer knows what to think.

Stricker calls Mikasa's name first and the enhanced girl who is no doubt supposed to be dead steps forward, her expression bland. When the commander calls Braun's name next, he gives Iris a moderately serious look before stepping on. Having expected him to surge forward like a preacher to his pulpit, she is too surprised to offer any nod or gesture of encouragement before the moment is over. Bertholdt is called and then Annie, who seems more somber than ever today. Iris listens to the names that follow, waiting to hear Ymir called forth. Once she is it will all be out of Iris' hands.

"Number ten, Krista Lenz!" Stricker finishes, folding the list before eyeing the most able bodies the Southern Division had to offer him critically.

" _Krista? Mikasa, Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, Eren, Marco, Jean, Connie, Sasha, and... Krista?"_

Ymir should be on that list, she is excellent. Iris turns her head to look at her, and finds the answer written plainly across Ymir's tanned face.

" _Krista... of course."_

Iris allows herself to scowl before arranging her face into a carefully neutral expression. Ymir is a self-professed seeker of leisure and comfort and all she could have hoped for had been within her grasp. She needed only to reach out and take it, but instead she gave it all to Krista; no doubt expecting nothing in return. Fool.

Now Iris must join her wherever she goes and should her actions reveal her to be something unnatural, whether she be a traitor to this or that side or all mankind for that matter, there will be no refuge from the duty she must perform.

Fool.

* * *

A group of them go dancing that evening.

Krista helps Iris braid her hair before they leave the barracks, while Ymir snorts at the plain linen garb she had chosen to wear.

"Why bother wearing a dress at all if you're gonna pick one that looks like that?" She points at the ankle length dress whose colour is something akin to burnt sienna.

"It is custom to wear a dress for dancing." Iris shrugs.

"Don't mind her, it is fine," Krista smiles, the way only she can.

"Fine?" Ymir snickers. "Think 'roughspun' is more like it."

"Much like your personality," Iris replies.

She shrugs and smiles. "Ah, it's hard work being this uncouth you know. If you're set on showing yourself outside wearing that sack I ain't gonna stop you."

Ymir gives Krista's button-up shirt and ankle length skirt a critical look. "You forgot one button Krista," she says with deadly seriousness and bends to button it. "You wouldn't want some unwashed boy to get the wrong idea, would you?"

"Of course not, but-" Krista begins, but Ymir interrupts her.

"Well then."

"I do not believe that is the way such things go about happening," Iris says.

Ymir gives her a meaningful look. "You're about the last person I'd take advice from on this kind of thing."

"Why?"

Ymir rolls her eyes and offers no reply.

They go to one of the local taverns, where a band of musicians are playing folk songs Iris has never heard before. They serve beer, as it has been a good year for barley, and tankards in hand they find seats in the back of the room. A good few of the 104th have gathered to celebrate, though she does not see Kirschtein, Marco or Karl anywhere. Jean's probably off crossing blades or tongues with Yeager somewhere. Those two have some chemistry, though none of them would admit it.

Iris looks up and finds Bertholdt approaching.

"I believe congratulations are in order," she says, wondering which of the vessels he would be. Is there a short, squat one? Because that would be some humour, surely.

"Thank you. I admit I didn't think I would rank third," he says mildly. He might have ranked second, but his deference to Braun in all matters makes short work of any potential for greatness.

"It was well earned," Krista smiles, making Bertholdt look both flattered and mildly uncomfortable.

Braun pushes his way through the masses on his way toward them, and though his hair is now mussed as if he has dragged his hand through it repeatedly he is still positively resplendent. Less noble than his face, his openly perplexed gaze travels from the crown of her head down to her feet, then back up again.

"Is  _that_  the latest Mitran fashion trend, or have I missed something?" he says.

Ymir snickers softly.

"It is not," Iris replies and crosses her arms over her chest. Perhaps she should not have come along.

Still appearing mildly confused, Braun's eyes slide over to behold Krista's simple loveliness, then to Ymir who gives him a look of intense disapproval.

"It is eh," he fumbles for words, running a hand through his hair again. "Good to see you out of your uniform, I mean."

And just what is  _that_  supposed to mean?

"Is it?"

"It is." He smiles carefully.

She is not certain she believes him, and finds herself unable to warm to his obvious attempts at reconciliation. When some time later Timo asks her to dance, she accepts.

Iris is an excellent dancer, everyone always said so. She finds that from time to time it is even quite pleasing to twirl about; simple, as all the steps are arranged beforehand. If all participants do their part it is to her mind an example of perfect freedom existing within the confines of a strict set of rules.

She dances with Mylius too, something inside her flickering with exhilaration as she accepts his hand. She imagines the horror that would be written across Mama's face upon seeing her daughter swinging her skirts in the arms of baseborn peasants. He leads her deftly across the floor, weaving back and forth between the other pairs of dancers. His footwork is sure as clockwork, and with perfect timing he twirls her around. The room spins past her eyes, the mass of faces blending together into one great blur until she sees something that stops her cold. Her eyes scan the crowds of people lining the northern wall, finding the place she could have sworn he had been standing. The soft, warm feeling of pleasure fades away until the presence of the crowd no longer feels comforting.

They had sent Valentin before, and of course she was not naïve enough to believe that she has not been under some kind of surveillance, but... It was still quite the shock to see Darius skulking amongst the crowd. She could have sworn it was him.

Eyes now seem to be watching her from all directions, evaluating, judging.

Until the day he was struck by lightning, Darius had been the most promising of the selected children - A prodigy you might say. He had been out in the practice yard the day a deafening roar split the sky open, showering the estate in a blinding white light. Durmholz windows had all shattered as the great thundering shook the ground upon which it stood, and when the light faded Darius lay in the yard like one dead. They spent days awaiting his passing, but instead he rose again. Only, whatever had held him on the brink of death had decided to keep some of him, it seemed. He was still quick and able, excelling at anything he tried his hand at, but at the same time there was something off about him now, as if he was not all  _there._ When speaking to him he would often pause for long periods of time with a look upon his face as if he suddenly struggled to remember who you were, and he would sometimes sit for hours staring at an empty wall or into a dark corner, pupils shrinking and dilating rapidly.

Mylius gives her a questioning look when she turns back to him. She shakes her head slightly and takes his hand again, and with no further arguments raised they continue.

She returns to the benches when the players pause to have a drink of their preferred liquids, and finds herself panting slightly, face warm and flushed. She plops down next to Braun and sees Ymir playing some sort of game with Bertholdt and an older man Iris has never seen before, Krista watching on over her friend's shoulder. No one has taken it upon themselves to finish her beer, and though it is lukewarm now she drinks deep. Warmth pools in the pit of her stomach only moments later.

"Are you not going to dance?" Iris asks Braun, realising too late that it could be taken as an invitation.

"No," he says.

Strange, she had always thought he seemed the type to enjoy dancing.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't," he replies tersely.

"Oh..."

"We scraped for food and froze once the winters came. Just where do you think dancing fits into a life like that?"

Is he angry? She wonders what made his mood go sour.

"Forgive me, I spoke thoughtlessly," she replies quietly.

All remaining elation dissipates, leaving her with something deep and quiet that feels like sadness. She rises to her feet, thinking it is time for her to retire for the night. They have duties to attend in the morning.

"I'm sorry," Braun says, grabbing for her arm and catching her wrist. "I didn't mean it like that."

" _He looks sad too."_

Should today not be a day of triumph for him? But then, perhaps triumph tastes like ashes in his mouth. He looks at her with sad, hooded eyes that look more green than amber in this light.

" _Strange eyes for a strange person."_

She cannot help but think of the future that awaits him. The Council will send Wolfdbrandt for them once they enlist with the Military Police Brigade. Some Mitrans say that should you whisper the name three times while standing alone in a candlelit room during the darkest hour of the night, you better be prepared to make an offering of a name to whatever comes calling. Said Mitrans decidedly belong to a class of people who would never imagine attempting such a ritual however, or if in dire circumstances they do, will be rather disappointed to find that this is not the way you go about it should you wish to summon those of this particular set of skills. Whisper the name to the right man inside the right sort of establishment however...

With the vessels' extraordinary destructive and healing powers, at least it will be a quick end. A bullet through the brainstem, most likely. Lights out.

"Apology accepted," she replies, and finds that her voice is unsteady. She hides the tremble in her bottom lip by closing her mouth tightly.

All is as it should be. Stop thinking about it.

She tugs at her arm and he lets her go, though she feels his eyes on her back as she moves to tell Ymir and Krista that she is going to retire for the night. The game now includes Krista as well, and it is played on a checkered board with pieces of various shapes and colours. Judging from how long it takes each player to consider their next move, it is some form of strategy game.

"I am returning to the barracks. Do not play him for money," she points to the stranger. Krista would not be so foolish, but Ymir might feel tempted to relieve the man of some of his coin. His shrewd face has Iris wondering just whose pouch would come away lighter from such an attempt.

She weaves through the hall, aiming at the doors leading outside. As she approaches she finds Braun standing there, speaking with Bertholdt in hushed tones. The tension on his face gives her pause, slowing her steps. They do not argue, or even raise their voices, but Bertholdt shakes his head slightly before he leaves. Braun remains, oblivious to the fact that she is watching him. He looks at the spot where his friend had stood only moments ago, his expression cold.

A disagreement between good friends, or something else entirely? Her stomach seems to tie itself into a knot. The Council needs more time, it is not ready yet. But surely King Fritz will rise to defend his people, should the vessels recommence their attack?

" _Do not panic, think. They must want the founder, but they cannot have known how to get to it without Fritz unleashing those ancient horrors. The enemy would not send fools; they must know what will happen."_

She draws a long, calming breath just as Braun looks up and sees her. His cold expression now turned to warm familiarity he motions for her, and she goes to him.

"Walk back with me?" he says.

She inclines her head. "As you wish."

He holds the door open as she passes through it, walking close by her side once they are out. The night air is mild and smells of beer and broth with only a light hint of night soil.

"You're a good dancer," he says smoothly.

"Thank you. I suppose that means you were watching."

He makes a noise of agreement deep in his throat, nodding. "I didn't think you would... I mean I thought-" he trails off, looking as though he just stopped himself from saying something rather unfortunate.

"You thought I would not condescend to dancing even if I know how to," she says, and judging from the look on his face her guess had been rather accurate.

A slightly awkward pause follows.

"You looked happy."

The thought of his watchful eyes on her is rather disconcerting under the present circumstances.

"I suppose I might have been... But you do not seem to be. I thought you would be pleased to have reached second place. You may join the Military Police Brigade now."

His face is unreadable as he heaves a sigh.

"I'm not sure I will."

She stumbles and is forced to steady herself on him, fighting to maintain some of her dignity by keeping the worst shock from showing on her face.

"Pardon me?" she blurts, though there is little clarification needed.

He smiles a little, but the warmth does not reach his eyes.

"I haven't decided yet so don't tell anyone, will you?"

"Of course not," she replies, trying to keep the dismay from showing on her face. "But what on earth has made you reconsider?"

"Well, as tempting as breaking up drunken brawls and searching for stolen jewellery sounds I'm not sure that's what I should be doing, not if I want to go home." He says it with casual intensity.

She looks up at the night darkened sky, wondering if the question she is contemplating would be too daring to ask. Does the enemy know the Ackermanns and others like them exist? Is there a place in Braun's mind where he entertains the idea of there being those within the walls who have not been subjected to His Gracious Majesty's figurative lobotomy?

"And why is it that you are so intent on going home?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Because it's home. It'll never be what it was I know, but I've made my peace with that." He looks at her. "Must sound strange to you"

If her question aroused any suspicion, his face does not show it. But then she never put much trust in his face to begin with.

"No," she says quite earnestly. "I understand the wish to return home quite well myself."

He blinks.

"Then why did you enlist?"

"That is a question whose answer would require a great deal of explaining. In short, it was decided that I would."

"Wait, who decided?" He pauses, plainly mystified. "Aren't you first in line to inherit everything?"

"Well," she shrugs. "I suppose that I was, but just  _what_ do you imagine there would be for me to inherit?"

"Isn't there a big estate you've mentioned?"

"There is, and we might humour ourselves with the notion that it is ours by right, but should you look upon the matter with a critical eye you would see that we are merely the residents of Durmholz."

"Not sure I follow you there. Who owns it then?"

She looks around them. The street is blessedly empty of people, illuminated here and there with warm light trickling through a window, or through the crack between closed shutters.

"Who do you think owns it, Reiner?" She looks up at his face, so carefully arranged in a bland but alert expression.

"What is a king, I ask you? He is the highest possible authority on this good earth, and the highest possible authority is never less than a god. He owns the ground upon which I stand and the air inside my lungs, the words from my mouth, the thoughts inside my head."

Her eyes skip between the windows surrounding them and she clasps her hands together, wringing them to stop their tremoring.

"Forgive me. I have said too much."

"It's alright, an honest mistake to make." He gives her a rather shrewd look. "Couldn't you... how did you put it, 'humour yourself' by calling it your inheritance? If your family has lived there over the last hundred years it doesn't seem likely that His Majesty will," he pauses, lips pursing as if to hold back a smile, "have need of it anytime soon."

"In another life, I might have." She sighs. "But Durmholz is not the home I would go to."

The mirk night obscures his features on the whole, but she sees him turn his head towards her. "You have another?"

"Don't we all?" Her nails pinch the skin of her palm painfully. "Our ancestors came from somewhere, did they not? Who knows what we might have been there – Perhaps it was no better, another king on another throne, or... perhaps we were free."

They are both quiet for a long time. She cannot say for sure, but Braun's step seems to have stiffened, arms formerly swinging loosely at his sides now moving back and forth jerkily.

"Freedom?" he says after some time, his tone flat. He snorts derisively. "As if people would know what to do with freedom. I don't see why you waste your time with childish fantasies, things are the way they are. You and Eren are usually the first to talk about the walls falling, and now you're dreaming of some lost place you'll never get to see? I don't get it."

"It is only practical to accept that the walls will fall whenever those deviant titans come back. I do not see that it has anything to do with my dreaming. Without dreams we all might as well accept that it would be rather practical to fling ourselves from said walls before they fall, as I am sure it is a more pleasant way to die."

He curses under his breath. "Were you always so..." He searches for the right word, but does not find it.

"Grim?" she suggests mildly, thinking of various other characteristics Kirschtein likes to use to describe her.

"Practical," he says, and she can hear the hint of a smile in his voice.

"Oh yes. I am highborn, and as such people have had great plans for me. I could either be beside myself over it, or practical about it."

"And this is where it got you." There is a definite smile in his voice now.

"Yes, well... There might have been an element of miscalculation along the way," she allows.

One mistake leading to another, and before you know it you have handed your life over to someone with little regard for it. Miscalculation.

"Maybe." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "I'm glad you did, though. Glad I got to know you." Judging from his posture he is looking somewhere far ahead of them. "You're going to choose the Garrison, right? I always assumed you would, but after what you've told me just now I'm wondering if I've had you all wrong."

"I do not know what my choice will be."

"Why not?" he asks, and there is some sense of urgency to the words.

"I wish to see where my friends go before I make my choice," she says quietly.

The half-truth feels oily in her mouth, like duck grease stuck to the insides of her teeth. The barracks are not far off now. Braun makes some sort of contemplative humming sound deep in his throat.

"Join the Garrison, Iris."

She frowns. "You presume to tell me what to do, Braun?"

"No," he smiles, but the expression lacks his usual humour. "I'm asking you. Join the Garrison, please."

They reach the barracks, the men's entrance facing east while the women's door on the other side of the large building faces towards the west. She halts, thinking. It is just like him to puzzle her with a request such as this, his intentions falling within two possible categories: An attempt to keep a friend out of harm's way, or the plotting of someone whose priority is not her well-being but something else entirely.

"I will think on your request."

"Okay," he replies. With his hands in his pockets, face half laid in shadow by the lit sconces on the walls, she thinks that he seems reluctant to bid her goodnight. Weighing from one foot to another, he contemplates whatever thought has seized him. He finally seems to resign himself to the night being over, and heaves a deep sigh.

"This is where I say goodnight."

"It would seem appropriate," she says tartly, seeing the corner of his mouth turn up.

"Goodnight then." He bends as though he intends to bow to her, almost immediately seeming to change his mind and turning it into a jerking motion as if suppressing a sneeze.

"Goodnight," she replies with an ironic curtsy before she turns, hearing Braun's low, regretful groan behind her.

"Would you have danced with me?" he asks, making her slow her pace somewhat.

"No."

He is silent for a moment, and she has the time to wonder if he will leave without another word.

"Why not?"

"Because you insulted my dress, you uncouth lubberwort."

She leaves, hearing his low, rueful laugh behind her.

Still somewhat exalted from spouting such profanity she turns the corner and approaches the women's entrance. There is a man standing just outside the ring of light beside the door. She knows who he is even before he steps into the light, his broad, squat form being so familiar she might recognise him in a crowd of a thousand people. His broad face and heavy brow comes into view, rough-hewn nose perched over a wide mouth and a broad, square jaw. His black unruly hair falls in perfect disorganisation, always seeming to tangent that perfect space between styled and upended. His deep-set eyes look black in this light, though daylight will show they are a dark brown.

He inclines his head to her.

"Darius," she says in greeting. His face remains blank as he looks at her.

"I sought you earlier. You were dancing."

"I saw you. What do you want?"

"You seemed happy," he comments in a low voice, accent slow and lilting.

"That is none of your concern," she says sharply, his placid expression making the hairs on her neck rise. "Why have you come?"

He seems to think on this for quite some time, as if he cannot quite recall. More than once she has reflected on how he does not seem to blink as often as a person ought to.

"The Council instructs you to focus your efforts on the three, if such is possible. It has been brought to their attention that all three are eligible to apply for the Military Police Brigade, but should one of them fail to do so you know what will be expected of you. It is imperative that you take action only once you have irrefutable proof of their guilt, as any unwise action might have dire consequences."

"None of this is news to me. What if they all apply for the Military Police Brigade?"

"It will be taken care of. Your concern will be the one carrying the she-devil's name in such an event." He pauses, lips settling in a hard line across his face. His brows furrow, dark eyes blazing. "The Council thought you might need to be reminded of the consequences of failing to comply with a given order." His mouth twists disapprovingly, and she is reminded that among them none had a keener sense of honour than Darius.

"Spare me of their veiled threats, please."

"Very well." He bows his head. "Valentin sends his regards. He would have liked to come himself."

"He would have loved to torment me with his presence, I am sure. May I go?" She all but taps her foot against the ground. He does not seem inclined to let her go just yet.

"Do not lose faith, you have done well so far."

She snorts.

"Do not mock me, Darius. Tell the Council that I have been corrected and that I will not fail them."

"If it is your wish," he replies blandly, as if it is of little interest to him. "Do you hear the chimes?" he continues, smiling expectantly. "Listen, and see the light on the horizon. The sun rises."

He steps back into the shadows without bidding her farewell, leaving her to contemplate his growing madness. The sound of his light footfalls against the cobbles fades quickly as he stalks away like a cat in the night.

* * *

"Give me a push, will you?" Mylius says, pulling the wagon slowly forward. She walks to the back and puts her hands against the side, pushing until it rolls smoothly against the packed dirt.

The wall looms only two streets away, casting this part of Trost in shadow. The morning air is mild and warm, foreshadowing another hot southern day. Ahead of them their comrades labour with their own carts, transporting clean uniforms from the washhouse by the river back to the supply warehouse. Two carts ahead of them Krista rides atop a pile of uniforms, looking somewhat frazzled and red-faced.

"Have you decided where to apply to?" Mylius says over his shoulder.

"I have not."

"Karl and I are joining the Garrison. A whole bunch of us are going there, Ymir too I should think, closer to Mitras that way. Only intrepid blockheads like Eren are joining the Survey Corps, you know. You could come too."

"I would like that very much," she replies.

They unload their cargo, and having been allowed a thirty minute break they pause by the well to take some water while complaining noisily.

"Just my luck," Kirschtein mutters gloomily while dabbing cool water on his brow. "I could have been relaxing up there with the other bastards scrubbing the cannons, but instead I end up down here hauling uniforms until my feet bleed with you sorry lot. Just a few more days, then I'll be out of this front line misery-hole."

At his side, Marco has the decency to look mildly embarrassed. Kirschtein has been sharing his thoughts on said misery-hole with all unfortunate souls he has come across since the disbandment of the 104th. The fact that he himself was born here and that all his family will remain here does not seem to concern him, although it has never been easy to discern what might stir in the mirky depths of his soul.

"And all of Trost will be grateful for it," Mylius mutters under his breath, to which Ymir gives a chortle. Krista throws Kirschtein a quick glance, and noticing that his attention is turned elsewhere she too smiles.

Between Iris and Marco there exists some form of quiet agreement in which neither part speaks of the king in each other's presence, lest they come to figurative blows. Now they share a look in which Marco shrugs as if to say that in the name of friendship, one must let certain things slide.

He opens his mouth to say something but a great, deafening boom that sends a massive tremor throughout the district drowns out his words. The ground beneath Iris feet heaves, forcing her to rock on the balls of her feet to keep from falling. The windows around them explode, glass spraying the air with a million tiny glimmering bullets. Birds take to the sky in great, flapping masses, screaming their discontent as a great groaning wail is followed by the sound of stone and mortar breaking apart and collapsing in on itself. Another rumbling crack like stone meeting stone echoes through the streets and alleyways as another tremor shakes the ground below.

She sees her comrades' faces turning deathly pale as their eyes scan the precipice of the wall, where a massive head peers over the top of the great fortification as if curious of just what lies within. Iris sees Marco's water flask fall from his hand, tumbling end over end as if in slow motion before it hits the ground with a strangely muffled thud. The wind flips her hair, sending it tumbling across her face in great cascades of pale ashen locks, and her eyes follow as around the great head buzzes a tiny fly, irritably circling back and forth as if searching for the perfect spot to plant its poisonous stinger.

Great plumes of white smoke rise from what must be a massive towering body, engulfing the head from out which peers those great curious eyes. A great gust of white swallows the fly now locked onto a spot on the giant's nape, speeding in to exact its revenge over this intrusion.

Only now does the notice the bodies hanging from what almost looks like spider webs along the inner side of the wall, one crashing dangerously towards the ground with limbs flailing limply as it spins and tumbles. There is a sound like someone screaming. One of its comrades rushes in, diving head-first for the fallen soldier and manages to get a hold of it before the soft body has the opportunity to make contact with the hard ground.

"Oh Sina," someone says over the loud ringing in her ears. "Fritz save us."

Her eyes drift from the pillaring white smoke to the dirty grey plume of dust rising from the buildings just within the gate. The sound had come from there, as if houses had come crashing down after-

"The gate," another voice says, clearer now that the ringing in her ears is faltering. She thinks it might be Marco speaking, voice strangely lifeless. "It broke through the gate."

Everything around them goes silent as if the world holds its breath.

Somewhere a bell begins to ring, and a moment later another takes up the cry, then another. Within seconds all the bells are ringing.  _Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!_

"The bells." Mylius sounds bewildered, as if he cannot fathom why such a thing would be happening. "The bells of Trost are ringing."

Somewhere far above a fly lands on its perch atop the wall, and of the giant it pursued there is no trace. Around them the city stirs and begins to roar with the sounds of footsteps and human terror.

All the while the bells toll, signalling that Trost has fallen.


	11. 11

**11**

* * *

The courtyard is in an uproar, soldiers running to and fro fastening the straps of their gear and scrambling to either get in line or get out of the way. The 104th are forming up alongside the Garrison soldiers, the bell having summoned them to headquarters with the same breath it urges the citizens to evacuate. Iris and the group of comrades she had been on duty with were among those first to arrive to put their gear in order, and now they stand in waiting while their friends scramble into the yard, ashen faced but purposeful.

There is no time to amass the full power of the Garrison regiment, what with it being spread so thin across the districts along outer perimeter of Wall Rose. The troops stationed in and around Trost will have to carry the torch for all mankind today, and the recently graduated trainee soldiers of the 104th are therefore called in to fill the gaps in the ranks.

They all know what this means. It is written across her friends' faces.

Ymir had snapped viciously at Krista for not triple checking that all her blades were razor sharp while Marco wasted his breath trying to raise everyone's morale. Mylius has not said a word, his face being a sickly shade of white. Kirschtein stands rigidly upright at the heart of the chaos with a look on his face that cries that this is all a big mistake – He is not supposed to be here.  _"One more day and I would have been in Mitras,"_  his eyes seem to say.

The orders are called the moment they are gathered, with the advance guard charging out even before the 104th have been informed of their position and role in the evacuation.

"The trainees of the 104th will form the middle-guard! Each squad will be responsible for the defence of a set of streets where you will aid any stragglers and keep open communications. If the situation demands it you will slay advancing titans. It is vital that as few enemies as possible are able to reach through to the rear guard where the state of the evacuation will be most delicate. Deserters will face capital punishment. I urge you; do not throw your lives away! Humanity needs you, devote your hearts!" Kitz Weilman cries, and they do. Hands close into fists across their hearts, heads are proudly raised as they stand together as soldiers, and as defenders of man's last kingdom on earth.

Once dismissed, words of glory and sacrifice now demanding to be put into action, they crumple. Iris sees Daz fall to his knees retching and Hannah shaking so badly that only the aid of Franz allows her to keep standing. Mylius has still not said a word and Eren seems strangely calm, strangely content to be here.

Iris had not considered that she might find herself in this situation. What madness drove the vessels to attack and risk that their powers were to fall into the enemy's hands? And King Fritz... where is he? Why has he not come? Her people's stories have told her on the whole what to expect, were the founder ever to use his dreadful power, but so far she sees no sign of it having been done.

Why is this happening?

Well, no matter. It is happening, and the king has not come. How small and insignificant they all must be, for all gods to turn away the moment they are needed most.

Iris draws steadying breaths. She sees Braun and Bertholdt standing close, their squad also containing Daz, Hannah and Franz, being positioned close to the centre of the district. Iris' squad is led by Kirschtein, who at the moment seems to have withdrawn into some far inner corner of himself, shutting out the world and all its matters. His face is a stony mask, buttery brown eyes strangely devoid of emotion.

She takes Mylius arm lightly and feels him flinch as though her touch burns him.

"Take heart my friend, Eren will lead the way," she says holding him gently. He blinks and at first her words only seem to graze the outer shell of him, but then his eyes focus.

"He's so eager to kill titans there might be none left for the rest of us," he says bleakly, and knowing which kinds of words are likely to give courage to those about to go into battle she nods, but cannot bring herself to agree verbally. She looks between the comrades standing around her and sees that Leonie has joined them, as she is also assigned to Jean's squad.

"Comrades," Iris says to any who might hear her. "Comrades I beg you hear me, as I have something I would ask of you."

Those closest hear her, Braun coming closer with his squad in tow. She looks between them, meeting Ymir's eye and seeing her friend raise expectant eyebrows. Further back a man approaches the Shiganshina trio where they stand close together, addressing Mikasa. Whatever he says to her it displeases her greatly for she speaks against it, forcing Eren to step in between them. So, they are to be separated then. Mikasa's name had not been assigned to any squad in the middle guard, which implies she will be posted with the elites in the rear.

Iris looks back to Marco and Karl, the two having turned towards her upon hearing her words. Yes, this will have to do.

"Were I to fall in battle today, will you please send a letter to my family? Will you tell them that it was with pride I carried the name they gave me, and that I was grateful to have been their daughter. Will you tell them, "Forgive me"?"

Kirschtein, giving the first hint that he is aware of his surroundings after all, looks up at her. She notices that his hands do not shake, and his gaze is steady. To his mind he is not supposed to be here, but he will not shrink from this duty when fate has set it before him.

"'Forgive me?'" he asks.

"For dying, obviously," Braun says.

Iris bows her head to him. There is at least one here who understands.

"Please, will you do this for me?"

"Yes." Braun does not hesitate a moment before giving his word. The air of easy, good-natured humour is gone from him, leaving behind a stony-faced youth showing no signs of fear, resignation or guilt.

"I'm your squad captain," Jean replies as though no other answer is needed.

"Of course," Marco says, and Karl makes some humming noise of agreement, his head bobbing up and down.

"I will," Bertholdt says quietly, looking at his feet somewhere far below, and Leonie shrugs with a sigh and an uttered "Sure".

Mylius looks at her. "You will do the same for me, won't you?"

"I swear it."

"Then yes, of course ."

"I promise I'll do it," Krista says bravely, and rather absurdly she seems to be among those most steady in the face of danger.

Ymir gives Iris a very pointed look, her grey eyes blazing.

"The hell I will, because you're not going to die," she says, mouth twisting with anger. "Don't you dare."

With that she turns around and stomps away, dragging Krista with her towards where Connie is waiting, him having been made their squad captain.

Kirschtein makes a disgusted noise.

"What the Fritz is her problem?"

"She will do it." Iris lowers her head and bows deeply. "Thank you. Really, thank you"

"This is no time for grovelling Bachmann, it is what any decent person would do," Jean says and looks around as if daring anyone to contradict this statement. When no one does he straightens and brushes off the front of his uniform. "You better be ready. Any minute now..."

When Iris straightens she sees that Braun is still there.

"I'll see you later," he says rather coldly, and walks away.

Iris raises her eyes to a sky upon which light fluffy clouds drift like ducks on a quiet pond, listening to the bells. The weather is mighty fine today.

"I better go to my squad," Mylius says. "... Good luck to you all."

"You too," Karl says, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Leonie grins at him.

"Good luck, don't let Yeager do anything too stupid."

Mylius smiles a little hearing this, but it might just because it is Leonie saying it.

"Pfah," Jean snorts. "With my luck the Colossal titan will trip and sit on me, and I'll die inside a titan's ass."

"They lack that... orifice, Squad Captain," Iris says helpfully.

"Sina, give me strength." Kirschtein covers his face with his hand.

"Best of luck... and remember," she says to Mylius.

"Since when do I forget things? But don't worry, you'll be alright." He pats her shoulder awkwardly, and then he goes to join his squad.

It is not long until Weilman orders the advance.

With Jean in front they surge forward and up over the rooftops, swinging up and diving down, letting the force of the motion to carry them forward. Below them the citizens of Trost are rushing to the gate into Rose, but there seems to be something slowing the evacuation. As Iris flies past she sees merchants hauling wagons overflowing with wares, riches and prized possessions, their proximity to the gate having allowed them ample time to load their earthly treasures onto their carts and wagons before making their way towards the gate. Further south the streets are still filled with people, and though they rush towards their escape they are moving slowly.

"You all understand what is happening?" Jean calls to them, and though he barely gives time for anyone to reply, there might not have been a reply coming anyway.

"The Garrison does not have the numbers to defend this district, and the men they do have are inexperienced. The Survey Corps are out doing whatever it is they do outside the walls, meaning the only experienced soldiers are gone. That is where we come in. It is only a matter of time before we encounter titans, and there will be heavy casualties."

As if in answer to his words the bells go quiet, and the sound of cannon fire reaches their ears. Frontal bombardment at the first line of defence. The Colossal titan had taken out some of the cannons with a swipe of its arm, but there were still some to the sides. There should be a second line of defence just within the gate, where additional cannons were to slow the approaching titans, giving the advance team easier kills. The open space just within the gate poses its own set of difficulties however, as their equipment was not designed for fighting in open spaces. Experienced soldiers might be able to use the titans themselves to move around, but it would mean death for these green fighters to attempt it. And once the titans advance beyond the moat and into the streets the line of cannons would have to be abandoned, leaving the middle guard to fight an unknown number of titans in an area with limited vision. The 104th's training had focused entirely on encountering titans within a wooded area with high visibility and mobility.

In other words, Kirschtein has the right of it.

"We engage them together with lookouts on all sides. Don't even think about being a hero or doing a Yeager," he orders. "Leonie watches our rear and the ground below, Karl minds our right flank, Iris the left. Marco and I are in the top ten, we will engage the titans. One at a time. If a civilian needs our assistance I go and you lot cover for me. Got it?!"

"Yes, sir!"

It is as if a veil has lifted from her eyes, and now she sees everything at once. Not all the cannons are firing, she is certain of it.

"Jean, do you hear?" she calls.

He lowers his head. Buildings flash past and they turns a corner, the street ahead seemingly wide and empty.

"I hear."

"Hear what?" Karl asks.

"The cannons?" Marco replies.

"Some of the cannons are silent. Be ready," Jean grinds out through clenched teeth.

He signals for them to follow and they land upon the roof of the building just up ahead. Here they stop. There is a sound, a slow deep thumping like a drum beat and they all turn their gazes towards the far right, seeking the source of the noise.

A foot appears from around a corner where the streets intersect, as if its owner is pushing its feet ahead of itself by some new way of dancing. It would all seem rather ordinary if it was not such a remarkably large foot. The illusion of normality shatters the moment the rest of the body comes lumbering around the corner. Its belly is large and swollen like that of a starving child, and its hands cover its eyes as though it has seen something unspeakable.

"Didn't I say this place was a shitty, suffocating hell-hole? You all thought I was an ass for saying it. Well, joke's on you," Jean says, gazing down at it. His nose wrinkles as if he finds the view disgusting.

"Better get on with it before another one shows up. You two be ready if a second one appears," he says and look at Karl first, then Iris. "Let's go."

They stay in formation during the approach. Iris watches their left flank as the intersecting streets flash by, all empty. The cannons keep firing in the distance attempting to slow the enemy's advance, but if the titans have already reached this far...

The thing lumbers forward with long strides, its spine arched back so far it resembles some strange bird performing its courtship dance. All through their approach its hands stay firmly pressed against its face. Does it even have eyes? Supposedly they all do, even though they do not seem to need them. The proof of the titans sensory abilities moves towards them now like a moth to a flame, hastening its step, digits splayed slightly as if it is peeking at them from behind its knobbly fingers. The mouth opens and begins to chew soundlessly.

Iris sees Jean and Marco shoot towards it, and the world seems to move very fast and very slow at the same time. They circle around, wary of the arms that might or might not whip out trying to catch them. The titan seems to plant its feet, and suddenly the entire upper body is swinging like a pendulum, mouth opening like the maw of an abyss as it sweeps around in a wide arch, forcing Jean to stop his approach and move out of the way.

Iris hears Karl's short, incredulous laughter. "Hah, it's stupid, look. They can take it. They will kill it."

She checks the intersecting street below her again. There seems to be no activity in the streets to her left, but on the far right she can see smoke rising. Is there something there that draws the titans, or is it just that something has caught fire? There is always fire when people flee their homes, always a furnace left burning, always a pot whose contents blacken and then catch fire.

She hears a loud shout and her head whips around just in time to see Kirschtein slice through the titan's neck. It crumples silently into the smoke rising from its own body, never taking its hands from its eyes. Jean and Marco halt on the roof behind it, eyeing each other mutely as if in disbelief of what they have done. They are all silent.

Then Karl whoops and raises his fist towards the sky. "Humanity!" he cheers, and Leonie echoes him

Iris points her blade towards the heavens.

"Hurrah!" she cries, hearing the others cheer in response.

The light reflects off the steel and she is temporarily blinded. She blinks several times, and he vision returns just in time for her to see the titan leaping up from the street on all fours like a great monstrous frog. Karl's smile turns to ice on his face. Then the teeth come bearing down over him, jaws closing with a loud snap, and he is gone.

Leonie screams wordlessly.

One voice calls his name, another shouts "No" as if that would change anything, and Iris can no longer tell which voice does what, or whom it belongs to. She might be the one screaming.

She surges forward, her life flashing before her eyes as she flips mid-air to change her direction. She sees her mother's tears the day she returned home after being selected to attend the Academy, hears the sound of sporadic gunfire and men shouting as they descend upon them in the dead of night, sees pride and disgust mingled on her father's face as he hears of her assignment to the King's Armed Forces. She hears the wind howling in her ears as she latches onto the creatures back, and with the press of a lever and a release of pressure she is shooting for it. She detaches herself and propels her body around, spinning like a hurricane. Her blades slice true, and the face of her father does not haunt her as she cuts through the titan like a knife through soft butter.

She digs through the steaming mess the titan leaves behind until someone shoves her out of the way. Kirschtein digs frantically until he finds him, pulling him from the entangled pile.

"Is he?" Iris hears Leonie begin but she stops herself, as it is clear that he is not.

"Damn it," Kirschtein says with a hint of hysteria in his voice. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" He turns furiously to the slimy pile, in which torn sleeves and other pieces of cloth bear the Garrison Regiment's coat of arms, and stiffens.

"How many do you think...?"

Marco, kneeling beside Karl murmurs: "Too many." He makes a small sound deep within his throat and raises a hand to gently brush the hair from Karl's brow. He tries to close his eyes but they come open again.

"You need coins for the eyes," Iris says quietly, hearing Leonie sniffle.

"We need to go." Kirschtein's voice is hard. "We have to find out what happened to the vanguard. These might just have gotten through, but how can we know? We're blind back here!" He grits his teeth.

"What, and just leave him here?!" Leonie turns her tear-streaked face to Kirschtein.

"Yes," he says gravely, his voice low and firm.

"No, we can't!"

"We have to." He looks away from Leonie and finds Iris' gaze.

"Jean's right," Marco says and gets to his feet. "We need to find out what happened to the vanguard."

Iris lays a hand on Leonie's shoulder. "We will come back for him. Duty first."

Leonie makes no reply, but she nods.

"Come on," Jean urges. "Leonie you... you take his place. We all watch out own asses."

They advance, fighting their way through though there are in truth not many enemies about. They see more and more evidence of the titans' superior power the further south they go, feet having trampled over carts and stands and whatever else came in their way, and walls and roofs bearing large holes. Then they begin to encounter bodies, if the state they are in still allows them to be categorized as such.

It is soon more or less clear that the vanguard is gone. The titans now entering at will seem to be amassing to the west, and aware that their supply of gas will not last them forever Kirschtein turns them there, hoping to come across one of the squads in charge of resupplying them with gas and blades.

They lose Leonie before encountering such a squad.

Her gear malfunctions and she is sent crashing into a wall. Dazed and having sustained a serious head-wound she might have been too out of it to notice when the titans swarmed her. After, Kirschtein begins to lose hope. Their formation falls apart and turns into a free-for-all scramble to stay alive until the evacuation, and still no one arrives to resupply them.

"Look!" Marco suddenly calls and Iris flinches, as though snapped out of a drunken stupor. "Over there, other squads have gathered."

Without a word, Kirschtein changes direction. The moment Iris and Marco follows him the evacuation bells begin to ring. Even without checking her supply of gas Iris knows that she does not have enough to make it all the way back and up the wall. She lands next to Marco atop the roof and sees Kirschtein collapse into a pile of despair, placing his head in his hands. She looks at Marco, and he looks at her. His king could have come and undone all this and yet Marco, undoubtedly one of his most loyal subjects, will know nothing of this betrayal. Neither of them says anything.

Instead she bends beside Kirschtein.

"Jean-"

"Go away."

"The fault does not lie with you."

"Of course not. Go away Bachmann."

She obliges, for she has seen Connie amongst the soldiers gathered on the roof. Her eyes begin roving back and forth, because if he is here then- But there are so few present. How many have already scaled the wall? How many of the middle guard? She sees that entire squads are missing completely, while others are represented only by a person or two.

" _Where are they?"_

Her eyes search for them. She is about to ask Sasha if she knows anything when her eyes find them. Wordlessly, Iris hurries over to them and pulls them to her in a tight embrace. They are both uninjured, though Ymir looks a bit tousled. She feels their arms around her back, live and warm.

"I am so glad... so glad," she murmurs.

"Ymir pulls back, peering at her critically. "Wait, who are you, and what the hell have you done with Iris?" They let go of each other.

"Pardon?" She blinks from Ymir to Krista.

"Nevermind, it is you after all."

"This is not the time make jokes," Krista scolds her, to which Ymir only smiles and pinches her cheek.

"Of course not. Right as always, you lovely girl."

"I am so glad," Iris repeats, seeming to have nothing better to say.

"Me too," Krista says. "...You look awful. Are you alright?"

"Karl and Leonie are dead. The vanguard is gone." When Iris says the words aloud the feeling of un-reality disappears, and all that is left chaos.

"You're alright though, like I said you'd be." Ymir says lightly.

"I do not have enough gas to make it back." And she sees on their faces that neither do they, especially not since there is a large number of titans between them and the inner part of Wall Rose.

"But we're not dead yet."

It would not help to point out how quickly that might all change. It is not as though they don't know what will happen if they stay here. She turns her head, and as someone steps aside she sees that Braun has made it here, Bertholdt in tow. Not once had she considered that he might not make it, and yet seeing him brings makes her feel like she has been turned upside down and shaken about.

Of course he made it.

She starts towards him. He stands with his back to her, next to Bertholdt and... Annie? Are they speaking? Iris halts. They are quiet now.

"You made it," she says.

He whips about, eyes widening. His mouth is slightly open as he looks her over. Without a word he goes to her, grabs her shoulders and hauls her in. She is too baffled to protest. Her entire body goes rigid. This is wrong. It should not be, not like this. His hands press very gently against her shoulder blades, warm through the fabric of her uniform. Her eyes close, and she sees Karl's face the moment he realises what has come up behind him. She wraps her arms around Braun's back and holds on, only for a moment. Then she pushes him away and retreats a few steps.

"Was that," he begins, and pauses as if looking for a suitable way to finish. "Not alright?"

"No," she blurts confusedly. "Or, I do not know. This is hardly the time – I cannot possibly," she stops herself and forces a deep breath. "This is not the time. I wished to see that you were uninjured."

"I am. But our only obvious way out is swarming with titans."

"What do you mean by that?"

He nods towards something behind her. "Wonder what had happened to the resupply units? HQ is overrun."

She turns around.

"Cinerus," she exclaims before she has a chance to stop herself. Turning slowly, she counts the soldiers surrounding them on the roof. It might do. Not for everyone, but for some it might do. Having turned all the way she is again face to face with Braun, who watches her speculatively.

Deciding, she starts towards Kirschtein and overhears him speaking to Connie.

"It's pointless. Even if some of us make it there will be titans inside the supply room where we can't use our gear." He puts his head in his hands again. "I had such a boring life, and now it's all over."

Hearing this Iris grits her teeth, counts to three and kicks him in the side of the ribs. Kirschtein leaps to his feet hissing like an angry cat.

"What the Fritz?! Watch what you're doing you bastard!"

"I am true born, as you are aware," she replies. "Jean, stop this. Why do you fret when you know what we must do? I need you."

He scowls and heaves a sigh, running an angry hand through his hair.

"Always one to state the obvious, eh Bachmann. Damn you."

But he keeps standing.

She turns around and her eyes find Braun.

"I need-" she starts.

Need what? Need him to be innocent? Need to know that he is not responsible for... for  _this._

"I need your strength," she finishes lamely.

The corner of his mouth quirks. "You have it."

She bows her head in thanks.

"The same goes for all of you," she says, raising her voice so it carries across the roof.

Only one or two raise their heads. No one gets up. She hears a whooshing and sees Mikasa come in, landing gracefully upon the tiles.

"Annie," Mikasa says, grabbing for the closest person. "Have you seen Eren's squad?"

For the first time since she arrived, Iris sees that Armin is crouching with his back pressed to the tower wall. He was part of Eren's squad. How did he end up here? He should not be here alone. She turns her head, looking again to see who else is present. Where are the rest of them?

She hears Mikasa ask where Eren is.

Armin's light voice is tinged with hysteria when he answers: "Of Squad 34, Thomas Wagner, Nac Tias, Mylius Zeramuski, Mina Karolina and Eren Yeager, have fulfilled their duty and fallen in combat."

Iris keeps searching. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Fulfilled their duty? Fallen in combat? Why... that all sounds well and good.

"Mylius? But... he is so gentle," she says stupidly. She sees Armin kneeling pitifully before Mikasa, asking for her forgiveness as if deciding guilt could undo this... this...

"He was never anything but kind to me," she says in a voice that does not sound like he own. "Never speaking harshly, even though I said stupid things. He swore he would write to my parents to tell them of my death, but-" She runs out of words.

Iris turns north, seeing the titans crawl across headquarters' tower like overgrown cockroaches. A head is bobbing up and down on its way north, visible over the rooftops only a few streets away, supposedly attached to a 15 or-so-meter body.

" _How many more?"_  Her hands coil into fists.

Mikasa moves up close while she talks to Marco, and whatever reaction one might have expected from her upon hearing of Yeager's death it is not this complete blankness on her face, or the dead, flat expression in her eyes.

"I can do it," she says with nothing but complete desolation in her voice. "Because I'm strong, stronger than all of you. That's why I'll be able to defeat the enemy on my own, without the help of you useless cowards. Sit here crying like the pathetic children you are while I deal with our foe."

Cries rise up to argue that there are too many of them, too many for any person to handle alone.

The Ackermann's are notorious for their emotional instability, brilliance and madness so closely entwined within the bloodline the king had finally branded them a threat and subsequently tried to kill them off.

"If I can't do it I'll die, but if I win I live. If I do not fight I cannot win," Mikasa says with some strange Ackermann logic, and without care of whether anyone follows her or not, she goes.

The comrades gape at the empty space where she had stood.

Seeing heroes die is terrible for morale.

"You will all die if you stay here," Iris says, deciding that it is up to her to rouse them. If they all perish here there will be no one left to bury their friends, no one left to weep for them.

The greatest tragedy possible is an unidentified body, a life snuffed out with no one to remember its existence, or mourn its passing.

"If your only option is to die screaming, will you do it with nothing but fear and defeat in your hearts? Or will you go down with your blades flashing, with the sound of your blood roaring in your ears, and with a scream of fury on your lips?!" She sees it in their eyes now, the glimmer of hope as they begin to rise.

"Will you stand with me?! Stand! As men and women of the King's Armed Forces! As the hope of a generation! As warriors of humanity!" She draws her blades and looks at Kirschtein. He nods.

"The sun rises!" she screams and raises her blade until it catches the light of the sun, flashing like a torch in her hand.

"Together! Advance!" Kirschtein cries, and without a look behind him he surges forward.

She follows, diving into empty air before her hooks find purchase and the release of pressure propels her forward.

As promised Mikasa has carved a way for them to follow, and when Iris hears the roaring of voices behind her she knows that they are following. Up and over buildings she goes, seeing steam rise where titans had stood only moments ago. Mikasa moves like lightning, felling one titan after another as though they are trees awaiting the judgement of her axe. Then suddenly her gear stutters and begins to cough. Mikasa swings down into a narrow alleyway, dipping beyond Iris' line of sight, and she does not emerge again.

Iris keeps going, headquarters coming closer and closer. Below there are titans now, most of them slow and ungainly like deformed children. Which of them have taken the lives of her comrades today? Which one killed Mylius? Which monstrosity saw it fit to lay its filthy hands on one of the most decent people she has even met? Come to think of it, it doesn't matter. They are all guilty. It is their bloody fault she is in this mess to begin with. All the long years of terror and despair, this whole disgusting legacy of filth - It is all their fault.

Her blood is up, and she forgets about rushing headquarters. What matters is that she might take some of this pain and send it back where it belongs. She changes direction mid-swing and descends on the closest titan, twisting her body around until she spins like a tiny tornado of steel.

" _For my comrades!"_ Her blades go through the flesh like a knife through cheese, and she bounds back up to seek another target. She will have to find his family now and deliver the news, or it will take the Armed Forces bloody months to get to it. Some fine piece of bureaucracy, curse it.

" _For my ancestors you filthy monster!"_ She is not sure whether she thinks it or shouts it from the top of her lungs. Her body feels taught and strong, blades weightless in her hands as she carves another small piece of justice.

She shoots back up again and sees that she is almost there, but the ground below is so crowded with the cursed things they are practically crawling over one another. Picking one target she goes in, not even noticing the others stopping. Not noticing that someone has been caught until she hears the screaming.

" _For me!"_ she thinks frantically as she ends another.

" _For me!"_

" _For me!"_

" _For me!"_ Until she loses count. Perhaps she did not count at all, who can say.

Her equipment stutters, coughs, and it feels to her as though a tremble runs through it at the moment of death. Vertigo sets in as her body changes direction and begins its free-fall towards the ground. In her fury she has depleted her gas, and now there is a price to be paid. Sloppy, so sloppy. How did she ever make it through training? Not with the 104th, no, the one before that. Oh well, it is not as though it matters now.

Contented that some of her comrades will make it through to deliver her last words home, she falls.

Until something hard slams into her, forcing the air from her lungs. Beaten half senseless and feeling as though her brain has taken a tumble down a steep hill, she half sees the ground speeding by below before the is thrown right through a window. She tumbles end over end with the sound of glass shattering ringing in her ears, skin burning with a hundred tiny cuts although thankfully she avoids being impaled. Finally she meets with something hard, against all odds managing to let out a small "Ouf" as she comes to a quick stop against the wooden surface.

She lies there fighting for breath like a fish on land for a moment before blessed air fills her lungs. Something close to her moves, making shards of glass jingle as they fall to the wooden floor. After disentangling all her limbs she pushes herself up to a sitting position, and finds that the hard thing that had hit her is in fact not an anvil, but Braun.

He stares at her with such shocked bewilderment she at first thinks he might have hit her by mistake, but then something in his eyes makes her reconsider. She has seen that look before, when a person seems to fight very hard to remember who they are, where they are, and whom they are speaking to. That flicker of terrified certainty that the person has finally lost itself, and now only nightmares lie ahead.

Braun blinks, and the look is gone.

"That was some impressive fighting Bachmann. Just what the hell were you thinking?"

He is ashy pale and looks thoroughly dishevelled. The troubled frown seems forced to his face as if to hide some other inexplicit emotion, and when he smiles there is no amusement in his eyes. He rises, and begins to brush dirt and glass from his uniform.

"You saved me," she says dazedly, looking to the broken window they had just come bursting through. Small miracle he managed to fit himself through it, and carrying her? She checks again to make sure all her limbs are still attached. Considering the circumstances she is quite alright, a little bruised and scraped, though decidedly not dead.

"Don't mention it," he replies and extends a very shaky hand to her. She takes it, letting him pull her to her feet. When he moves to let go she holds on.

"I owe you my life."

"Nah, it was the only decent thing to do," he mumbles, and to her great confusion he assumes a look of mild embarrassment... Or at least that what she believes it to be. Why is he looking at her like that, like she is something strange come his way?

"Is that really you Bachmann? Since when do you fight like that? You looked so..." he searches for words. "Alive."

A window further down the room explodes inwards and in a shower of glass and limbs Kirschtein comes tumbling in. Iris lets go of Braun and hurries towards him, hearing the heavy 'thunk' as he hits the group of stacked desks in his way. Moments later more people come through, some with more grace than others, like Krista. She made it. Ymir too, and Marco.

Within seconds Jean has pulled one of the startled soldiers hiding in here to his feet, his fist connecting with a terrified face. Iris grabs his jacket by the collar and yanks him back. Jean stumbles and lets the young man go, several people rushing in between them shouting and pushing. On any good day Jean is stronger than she is and would not allow himself to be picked up and carried off like an unruly child, but this is not a good day.

"People died out there because of you bastards!" he screams. "They died because you didn't do your job!"

She hears Braun cry out.

"Get down!"

The wall crumbles inward as a giant face pushes its way through, smiling at them as if delighted to find them all here. Jean goes completely still in her arms. "Too many," she hears him murmur as he stares into that mindlessly happy face, the people behind them screaming so loud she can barely hear him. He withers, and she fears he has reached his breaking point.

"How many did we kill?" he whispers.

"I lost count," she replies, wondering if a good shake or a slap might bring him out of it.

"Yeah... me too. There are too many of them... All is lost."

She feels him groping for his blade, and not knowing what he intends to do with it she releases the hold on his shoulder, grabbing his wrist instead. He is out of gas, what good is a blade to him now?

The large face peering at them through the hole goes through some kind of shocking metamorphosis, imploding before their eyes like a grape being stepped on by a plow horse. Her mind struggles to understand what it is she is seeing, and then she notices the fingers, the hand being smashed into that great grinning visage. The sound is indescribable, a deafening meaty thwack, like a god swinging a truly huge fish into the face of an enemy. The following roar from the thing outside makes her ears ring.

Then she realises what is out there, feeling her insides turn to water.

While her arms fall limp to her sides, more people come crashing in. She registers that Mikasa is among them only because of Jean's bewildered exclamation. Step by slow step, Iris walks to the gaping mouth where a solid wall had once been, taking in the thing outside.

It cannot be.

This is wrong. What on earth is happening? All the suspects are behind her, still deceivingly human. Has he come after all? King Fritz? But no, that is wrong too. She turns around, seeing the dumbfounded looks of astonishment on her comrades' faces, on  _all_ faces except perhaps Ymir's whose expression is blank, and on the trio's where something flickers, like the slightest hint of fear and confusion.

"Use a titan?" she hears Jean say doubtfully, as though he fears that Mikasa, Armin and Connie might have all gone mad.

"I don't care what it is, abnormal or something else. As long as it continues its rampage it is our best chance to make it out of here alive," Mikasa replies with her usual stoicism.

Iris looks outside again. Does the Council know it is here?

She looks at the titan's lean, supple body, feeling as though she is still caught in a long free-fall towards the ground.

" _Lord, have mercy. Give me the strength to face this; to learn what I can, before I do what I must."_

Iris wipes all feeling from her face, and turns back to her comrades.

They have begun to gather around Armin who seems to be working out a plan for dealing with the smaller titans occupying the supply room.

"Bachmann," Kirschtein barks, and whatever inner battle had been fighting earlier the better half seems to have won this time. "This way."

She obeys.

They dig out crates filled with decommissioned MPB equipment, old even by the standards of the King's Armed Forces. It seems to serve their purposes though, as Kirschtein orders them to carry the crates back to the central chamber. After a more critical inspection of the old rifles they decide that it will have to serve, as nothing else is available to them.

"We lower as many of us as will fit on the lift into the chamber below, each of us equipped with a rifle. Our numbers should be enough to draw the titans to us. When the signal is given we fire at their eyes simultaneously, blinding them for a short period of time," Armin explains.

He looks extremely guilty and perhaps just a little bit queasy when he lays out the next part of the plan – The part that will decide the fate of all of them.

"Seven people will need to kill seven titans all at once, in a single slash. Those seven should be the ones possessing the highest physical ability, as it will give them the best chance of completing the mission. I am so sorry, but those persons will have to carry the fate of all of us on their shoulders."

He looks up at the obvious choices, not all of them seeming too pleased with the honours. It is a heavy burden to carry, that the stroke of your hand should decide the fate of others.

"Pardon me, but I would like to be considered," Iris says.

This clearly confuses Armin. "I'm not sure that would be wise," he says politely.

Marco meets Iris' gaze, giving her an almost invisible nod.

"It's your plan Armin," Marco says respectfully. "I would take Bachmann, though."

Armin looks between them doubtfully, no doubt assessing whether or not he is willing to risk all their lives on a sketchy volunteer and Marco's given opinion.

"Sina save me, I'd let Bachmann do it. Give her my spot," Kirschtein mutters darkly.

"Okay." Armin musses his hair until it resembles a crow's nest. "But I think we better have you Jean. Iris takes the seventh spot then, Sasha."

No one raises any protest at this, although there is bound to be more than one person questioning whether or not it is the right decision.

The seven break off from the main group and descend the stairs to the level below to access the lower walkway, naturally falling into step behind Jean. Braun, evidently having recovered from the shock of seeing the rogue vessel outside, is making jokes.

"If you miss you can just stick it up their asses. That's the second vital spot!" he says, raising his blade while grinning confidently.

"There's a second vital spot?! No way!" Connie cries, astonished.

Iris grinds her teeth.

The look in the eyes of those three as they saw that titan is by no means irrefutable proof, not something she can act on... at least not until she understands more about the situation and where this new titan fits into it. But in her heart she knows the truth now. Perhaps that is why she volunteered. It was an unwise decision, but she had to do something or the thoughts might eat her up.

"Are you alright?" Braun has quit his jesting and is now walking beside her. She finds that she cannot bring herself to look at him.

"Of course," she says flatly. "People have died today, but that is just the natural order of things when you think about it. I am healthy and uninjured - What cause of complaint could I possibly have?"

Her question is met with a rather uneasy silence from the rest of the group.

"It's rough, I know." He puts his hand on her shoulder, and without really intending to do so she turns her head and looks at him.

It really is quite dreadful that he looks so... human. His comely face is pleasantly familiar to her, hazel eyes gleaming like bright gold in the torch light. Rough, yes, it is so. Rough because once you allow yourself to imagine that the enemy is just like you, even if it is only for a moment, you can never go back. That part of you that believed yourself to be the means to an end in the fight between good and evil shrivels and begins to die the moment you see the man within the monster. It is a slow decay of the soul.

"I imagine you do," she says, and means it.

The searching look in his eyes is back, as if some part of him has realised that he is face to face with a stranger. He must be quite intuitive to have nestled his way into so many of his comrades hearts, and perhaps that intuition is making his spider senses light up like a bonfire at this very moment. If so, he is very intent on not showing it.

"I was joking about the, eh... the asses, you know. There is no such spot." His face assumes a vaguely sheepish look at this admission, the quick change in topic being about as startling as an unexpected slap to the face.

She involuntarily makes some kind of strangled noise and resists the rather strong urge to hit him. A wide stupid grin spreads on his face.

"So you do know how to laugh," he says, and she really cannot tell whether he is jesting or not.

"That's what that was? Sounded rather painful," Kirschtein says pointedly.

"I most definitely did not!" she says, swelling with outrage at this base accusation. "I have heard far more amusing things than your half-witted remarks without losing my wits, Braun."

"Clearly not," he says smugly.

"It was pretty bad, and potentially dangerous," Connie agrees, and Annie, without acknowledging that any of them are actually here, manages a look that says she expected nothing better of them but is disappointed nonetheless.

"Is this really the time to be making ass-jokes, Reiner?" Kirschtein says, stepping down onto the walkway.

"Why not?" Braun shrugs. "I won't be making them after I'm dead."

Well, he has a good point there, one must admit.

They find their places, climbing over the railing around the walkway and onto the beams criss-crossing the ceiling. The titans move like restless ghosts below, but before their senses have fully attuned to the fact there are humans climbing above their heads the elevator beings its descent with a low rumble. It is not the sound that draws them, though they do show some reaction to the noise. No, they seem to be drawn to the warm bodies gathered in the central area, beginning their slow advance as the elevator stops.

Iris feels as though she is balancing on a knife's edge, so close to the line that separates life and death that she has placed one foot on each side of the boundary. It is a pity that her comrades had to come into this unbloodied. What terror they must have felt. But then, was there ever a gentle way to teach a child of war? Iris thinks of the times Ymir has asked where she got her scars, and of the answer she wished to give but never could.

Her comrades shoulder their rifles. Armin's quavering voice orders them to wait. The titans turn slowly. If even a single of them is a deviant this might all go wrong very quickly. Her target turns ponderously; his short stubby legs making him waddle like a huge baby. His face is that of a child too, the eyes seeming to express some inarticulate question, possibly regarding its identity, or existence itself.

"Hold!" Armin urges, and Iris prays that his muzzle is steadier than his voice is.

"Ready!"

The titans begin to raise their arms towards the soldiers like beggars pleading for alms, though neither blood nor bone will satiate their hunger. The rattle of rifles steadied against the elevator's railing is the only sound to permeate the silence within the chamber.

"Fire!"

Muzzle flashes light up the room like fireworks, and the sound of igniting gunpowder reverberates until it sounds like a hundred guns firing all at once. With no chance to check whether the buckshot has done the damage intended Iris leaps forward, feeling the slash all the way through her body. As the floor rushes up to meet her she tucks and rolls, knowing that she struck true even before the body begins to smoke and sag towards the ground.

She hears a scream and finds Connie's target advancing towards him. A moment later Annie is upon it, leaping two meters into the air before her blades flash like lightning, and the great body goes limp.

"Sorry about that," Connie says shakily, to which Annie gives him a rather cool look.

"No problem."

Braun strides forward looking all but pleased with this display of skill.

"That was too close Annie," he says sternly, and if Iris had any doubt of who leads the invaders such doubts are promptly put to rest.

She notices something else – Bertholdt, looking as though he has suffered a terrible shock. He takes a step towards Annie, and his hand twitches as though it has the wish to touch her, if only to make sure that she is alright.

"They're down!" Kirschtein calls to the elevator and the people hiding on the floor above. Someone cheers, and soon his or her comrades join in until the whole place echoes with cries of joy and relief.

Iris angles her blade, watching her own reflection in the polished metal surface.

Braun had inquired whether they knew something about the titan outside, which confirms that the vessel is a stranger to them. Is there yet another participant in this conflict? She must learn which of the titans this one is, and how it fits into the big picture. Something else is amiss too, for surely the king cannot possibly believe this is anything but an act of war. Why has he remained idle?

"The sun rises," she whispers to her own reflection, and the girl stares back at her with cool judgement in her eyes.


	12. 12

**12**

* * *

Iris reequips herself. She tests the grips and checks the sharpness of each individual blade, leaving nothing to chance. People have begun to file out, taking the route through the windows on the upper floor. Sounds echo strangely inside this cavernous hall, distorting them beyond recognition and making it difficult to determine where they originated. She hears leather soles padding energetically against the stones but finds it impossible to divine in which direction they are going. The air is somewhat damp like it might be in cellars and places underground. She bends to inspect the straps around her legs. The supple leather fits snugly around her muscled thighs and shows no sign of cracking or tearing, fastened through polished buckles that show not a spot of rust or tarnish.

Once done, she ascends the stairs and goes to the windows. Outside she sees the forms of comrades heading towards the wall, their whooshing only softly accented by the sound of distant titan footsteps. The city looks deceptively peaceful from here; river shining clear and still like a bright blue mirror, trees swaying softly on the river bank.

She breathes the still fresh air, crisp and sweet as honey. A voice from the roof above reminds her of the task ahead and she climbs out, aiming her grapple hooks to the wall above.

"We need to get out of here soon, or-" she hears Armin say, but he never finishes his sentence.

The eaves and gutters fly past her face, her feet touching down on the slated roof a moment later.

The strange titan, or vessel depending on what side of things you are on, has been overwhelmed by its adversaries. Caught against the side of a building and ringed by hungry mouths and grasping hands, it stands rooted in place. Steam rises faintly from its wounds while the other titans gorge on its flesh. The vessel's titan roars and its deep –set wild eyes shine a brilliant green. It sounds... tired?

"Cinerus," she mutters. It will get eaten unless they do something.

Mikasa watches the titan's struggle as if she cannot decide what to make of it. "I thought that if we can somehow solve the mystery of that titan it could be an opportunity, something to help us find a way out of this hopeless situation... But..." she says.

Iris hears a loud 'thump' behind her as more people land on the roof. Before she has time to wonder who they are, Braun speaks.

"I agree. If we let them eat it then it will all be over without us understanding a damn thing!" he says in a tone that demands obedience. "Let's eliminate the ones eating it for now, try keeping it alive longer."

"Reiner, are you insane?! We're finally able to escape this death-trap, and now you're suggesting we get close to that dangerous abnormal?! What the Fritz is wrong with you?!" Jean cries and puffs his chest up as he stares at Reiner.

"What about the possibility that this titan could become an ally? It would be a weapon more powerful than any cannon," Annie says, stepping up beside Braun. She has not left Reiner and Bertholdt's side since they cleared the ground floor.

"But-" Kirschtein begins.

"I vote 'Aye'," Iris says. The smaller ones are attacking its legs now. If it falls to its knees the host will be eaten within minutes. "It is worth the risk."

"The risk is our damned lives!" he fumes.

"I will risk it," she says and readies herself to go. Before she has moved further than a step, Armin speaks again.

"Wait... Isn't that the titan that killed Thomas?" He points towards it, and the moment she sees it, so does the titan vessel.

Its roar is deafening, wild. It charges forward, shaking off the smaller titans as it bulls towards the slender figure of the new titan. Armless, the vessel's titan uses its mouth to clamp down on the slender titan's neck, before swinging it around and smashing it into one of the approaching titans. With incredible force the vessel wields the slender titan like a sledgehammer before he flings it at an approaching fifteen-meter enemy. The two ordinary titans crash into the side of a tall building with an echoing rumble, and there they begin to disolve. The vessel's titan roars frenziedly, its head snapping from side to side like that of a rabid dog.

Iris feels a tremble snake its way from her spine through to her fingertips. Hearing these powers described in stories is a world apart from witnessing them with her own eyes. She had known of them all her life, and yet she had been as ignorant as a child.

"'He who allies with evil shall himself become it; for once you have lain with devils your soul shall come to rot, and in the mirror you will see the horns'," she murmurs, to which Kirschtein gives her an incredulous look.

"Huh?"

"I read it in a book."

"And you thought now was a good moment for recitation? Seriously, Bachmann? " He turns to the others. "What was that you said about helping again? We should get away now that it looks like it exhausted itself. There's no way that monster's on our side. Titans are titans."

He begins to go, and as much as Iris wants to join him she cannot go yet. She must see who hides inside, see who is in possession of a titan power whose host should be hundreds of leagues from here and allied with those who broke through Wall Maria... with Braun.

When no one moves to follow he stops, turning back.

"Oi, what..."

The smoke rises from the titan, flesh melting away as though its body was no more than a dream. The shape of a person drifts in and out of view between the banks of smoke. Then, as though the flesh itself it trying to expel him his shoulders rise up, his arms coming free and his head tilts back. He is clean and whole, his face serene as if wherever his mind has gone to it is to a place of peace. His rosy cheeks are flushed as if he has been running. She supposes that he has been, running madly, that is. Eren... Eren Yeager.

Mikasa is down on the ground dragging Eren from the titan before Iris feels she has had any time to think this through. The girl seems to check his pulse before she throws him across her shoulder as if he weighs nothing at all, and she carries them both to safety atop the balcony on the floor below. The wind whips around Iris' head and for the first time in her life she wonders what Valentin would have done. He would not have stood here like some big dummy - That much is certain. And so she puts one foot before the other until she stands right at the edge. There she stops and looks back. Braun's handsome face is very pale, his lips pressed tightly together while his eyes remain fixed on the body of the boy below. He had not known it was Yeager, clearly.

She drops from the edge, landing softly on the balcony moments later. Iris sees Mikasa cradling Eren in her arms with tears streaming from her eyes and feels her knees turn to rubber, buckling beneath her weight. A sharp burst of pain shoots up her spine as she sits down hard.

Armin lands before his friends, his blue eyes impossibly wide. Mikasa rocks Eren back and forth like he is a beloved child before she tips her head back to let out a piercing, wordless scream. The sleeve of Eren's left arm and the left trouser leg ends in frayed scraps just above his elbow and knee, the skin below smooth, sunburnt and unblemished. Armin creeps forward, and reaching out he takes Eren's left hand gingerly, looking at it as though it is a thing of wonder. His fingers trace over Eren's palm slowly, following the lines of life and love, stroking the soft, fleshy part below the thumb. He touches each fingertip as if trying to memorize the little ridges and their patterns before he takes Eren's hand in his, entwining their fingers as if making a silent promise.

In a low, tremulous tones Armin whispers, "Eren... what happened to you?", and in his voice Iris hears the tears she cannot see. Armin's cherished friend, the only family he has left in the world has found his way back to him.

"... Eren... did all this?" Kirschtein takes in the steaming carcasses below.

The scene around her turns into a simmering blur of light and colour, floating around before her eyes. The distant sound of a horn signals the imminent arrival of Garrison soldiers.

"This is insane. The whole world's gone mad," Kirschtein says, sparing them all the trouble of reaching this conclusion themselves.

Iris stares at the blurred shape of her hand, thinking of how she has looked at it a thousand times before without ever really seeing it. There is a scar across the joint of the middle finger, and the little finger is still slightly crooked from an old break. The skin on her palm is of a slightly different colour than it used to be, and she has noticed that in some lights it is strangely shiny, as if slick with moisture. But it is a hand - Not that different from anyone else's. From afar it would look just like Eren's hand... or Braun's.

With a soft whir of retracting wires and the rustling of fabric, headquarters balcony is suddenly swarming with soldiers. Over the shouting and general clamour Iris hears a familiar voice calling out orders. Someone almost trips over her, the soldier's attention so focused on Eren's limp body he seems to register nothing else. He steps on her fingers, hard leather crunching down on skin and bones before she manages to pull it away, wincing at the pain. Someone grabs the back of her collar and drags her to her feet.

"Watch out Bachmann, these guys are serious," Jean hisses in her ear.

The soldiers move in as if to attempt to pull Eren from Mikasa's grasp, but one look into her eyes stops them cold.

"Wait, what is going on here?!" Armin rises to his feet, letting go of Eren's hand.

"This is now a matter to be handled by the Garrison Regiment! That..." Kitz Weilman pauses, face assuming a look as though he has smelled something foul. " _Boy_  needs to be moved to a more secure location!" He points a trembling finger towards Yeager, eyes round as saucers. "You two, assist in his relocation, the rest of you will remain here. Dietrich?! You know what to do with these trainees! Rendezvous at the agreed location afterwards! Now!"

"But-" Armin says, though before he manages to get anything else out Weilman pulls a pistol from its holster, and points it at his face.

"That is an order, soldier! Disobey, and you will meet with the consequences!"

Armin's eyes widen but he says no more. Instead he bends, and with a look between them he extends a hand to Mikasa. She does not let go of Eren as she gets to her feet. Led by Weilman and positively surrounded by an escort of elite Garrison soldiers they depart, moving towards the wall in the general direction of the gate, east of where the 104th have been ordered to rendezvous.

Team Leader Ian Dietrich addresses the five of them remaining.

"As you understand this is an unprecedented situation, and a delicate matter at that. You will swear by his Royal Majesty that you will not say a word of what you saw here until all the details are made public. I trust that you understand what the consequences would be, should you fail to hold your silence?"

Discretely Iris wipes her face, erasing all traces of the unnameable emotion that had seized her upon seeing Mikasa, Eren and Armin reunited.

"Do we look like children to you?! Of course we understand!" Jean barks. "Tell us what to swear and let's get it over with."

"Just swear by the king," Dietrich responds impatiently, clearly wanting to be free of the impudent children he has been tasked with instructing.

Iris listens as her comrades swear to keep silent, trying to sort through today's events in her mind. A thought hits her like a bolt of lightning, troubling but undeniable in its simplicity:

" _What if something prevents the king from using the founding titan's powers?"_

"Forgive me, sir," she says when it is her turn. "I seem to have hit my head – Which king do we swear by?"

An expression of confusion mingled with annoyance settles on Dietrich's thin face. His blue eyes narrow into slits.

"I already told you, His Grace King Fritz."

"Yes, but forgive me, I cannot seem to recall  _which_  King Fritz I should swear to. For my oath to be true, surely I must know in my heart which king I swear by?"

The annoyance fades, leaving behind a thoughtful expression on Dietrich's fine-boned visage. He ponders but does not seem to be able to recall a name.

"... I hardly think that matters. Swear, and be done with it!"

" _Cinerus, he does not know."_ She realises, and neither does she. It had never seemed important before, but surely such a thing should be known?

"Very well. By whichever King Fritz is now in rule, I swear it."

Seemingly placated by this rather underwhelming oath he motions to the wall, visibly eager to be on his way.

"Return to your posts, trainees."

Without waiting for a reply, he is off.

Pale and silent they make their way back together, each person seemingly too deep in their own separate train of thought to discuss what they have seen, and what it could mean. Iris grapples on to and scales Wall Rose, not stopping at the precipice to take in the devastation behind her before she leaps down towards the city below.

She does not know which king is on the throne; that much is clear. The more she thinks about it the more likely it seems that the man wearing the crown is a lure. The real Fritz would never take this attack as anything but a declaration of war. He would have used the founding titan's power to find and neutralize the invaders, surely. If something has happened to the real king though, that would certainly explain a thing or two.

She looks up and sees Bertholdt is not far behind her, face drawn and serious. Did they attack today because they suspect the same thing she suspects? It would appear rather desperate to attack this way based on a whim... Then – Could this attack itself proof of her theory? Do the three know that the founder is indisposed or otherwise missing?

She lands, the other four touching down nearby only seconds later. What remains of the 104th crowds the street around her, showing absolutely no semblance of order whatsoever. Taking this as permission to unravel completely, Iris plops down on the steps behind her and promptly lets her hair down. Briefly she wonders if there are any medical supplies with which she could wash out the small cuts on her face. Before she has any chance to develop this thought any further she sees Ymir coming towards her.

"There you are. Where the heck did you go? I thought you'd be just behind us."

"I was. Forgive me, I am not at liberty to tell you what happened after you left. You will find out soon I expect."

Ymir frowns deeply. "Eh? But of course  _you_ had to get mixed up in it." She gives Iris a half-accusatory look.

"Guys," Krista comes over, a look of worry shining in her bright azure eyes. "Have you seen Armin? Or Mikasa?"

Iris is about to reply when Kirschtein replies in her stead.

"We can't say anything at all about that. We were forced to swear an oath of secrecy, although I don't know how effective it'll be. I mean, you can't really cover up something like this," he says darkly.

Braun emerges from the crowd and sits down next to Iris on the steps. He crosses his arms over his chest, relaxing his posture so that his left knee rests lightly against her leg. Iris feels her body tensing, muscles clenching like a fist ready to strike. Surely he had not needed to sit as close as that? Could she possibly stab him in the leg and argue battle-trauma? Considering, she peers at his rather striking profile. He has a sculpted, prominent nose; aquiline even. Paired with his heavy brow and firm, square jaw it gives his face a noble cast. As though he feels her gaze on him he turns his head. His firm hazel eyes are flecked with shards of bright gold.

Something in Braun's face makes her believe he wishes to speak to her, but he does not seem want to do it with so many others around.

"I'm sure the whole human race will know soon enough... If it still exists by then..." Jean mutters wistfully.

He really ought to wear a doomsday hat when making such predictions, she thinks.

"We should get those cuts on your face cleaned," Braun says, stopping her in the midst of her imaginings of what Kirschtein's doomsday hat might look like.

She frowns. Why should he care whether or not she develops a possibly life-threatening inflammation of the flesh?

"I have something," Krista says, and Iris realises that instead of offering any sort of reply she is just staring mutely at Braun. Krista gives him a dampened cloth and he holds it up to her like a peace offering.

"Alright if I use this on you?" he says.

"I believe that I am in a state of acute distress," she says matter-of-factly, though it does nothing to answer his question.

Braun frowns, and yet seems to take this as permission to stick the cloth in her face. "Suffering from what?" he says, dabbing gently at her brow

"Hey, maybe I should do that," Ymir butts in as if she can somehow sense the monumental inner turmoil of Iris' mind at this very minute.

They get no further in this conversation before a loud 'boom' echoes through the city.

" _Eren,"_ is all Iris has time to think before she, Braun and Jean are all on their feet.

"Hey, did someone open fire?" Someone shouts, and she sees the steam rising from a point somewhere close to the gate.

Braun stands completely still; listening, considering. She sees the decision in his body even before he moves.

"Reiner?!" someone screams as he takes off, Jean, Annie and herself right behind him. Iris never decided to go, she just did.

The roofs flash by and the smoke rises ahead. She sees Braun come to a stop on the roof of the nearest building, staring down at the scene below. Her own feet connect with the tiles and the force of her speed throws off her balance, threatening to topple her forward over the roof's edge. Braun grabs a hold of her uniform jacket to steady her, seemingly more from reflex than from conscious effort. Below, Armin steps forward. He speaks louder than she has ever heard him speak before, trying to reason with the terrified Weilman and his underlings.

He makes some rather excellent points as far as she is concerned, but Weilman is not listening. Behind Armin crouches Eren and Mikasa, and above them looms the decaying bones of a partly formed titan. Gods, the soldiers must have fired the cannon down at them, and Eren had transformed in order to protect them from the blast.

Just as it seems that Armin's resolute logic has lost the battle against Weilman's empty-eyed terror, Commander Pixis arrives. The Commander takes the issue in hand by gripping onto Weilman's wrist and preventing him from giving the order to fire again. He says something to Weilman and then motions for the three trainees to accompany him.

Iris makes her way back into formation once Pixis has left, taking Eren, Armin and Mikasa with him. She shoves herself forward through the ranks, feeling decidedly light-headed. Deciding that this is a good spot she stops and tugs at her collar, hoping that a bit of fresh air will do her good. Unfortunately, said air is rather stuffy and somewhat smelly, doing little to alleviate her suffering. She feels the very earth beneath her feet lurch dangerously, and struggles against it for a moment before letting herself drop to the ground with an undignified thud. Once there the puts her head between her knees, trying to remain conscious.

"Hey, are you alright?" she hears Bertholdt's soft, pleasant voice say somewhere not too far above her.

"Oh yes," she gulps. "Only performing my daily exercises. I call this one "the squatting hermit"."

She hears him crouch down next to her, his knees producing a rather loud popping sound as he does so.

"You don't sound alright. Here," he sticks a water bottle in front of her face. His voice sounds tinny and distorted to her ears. She takes the bottle, and drinks.

"What's wrong?" another voice says above her.

"I think it's only fatigue," Bertholdt replies.

Another body crouches next to her, on the right side this time. She can feel how warm he is. A moment later his familiar smell envelops her, and she finds the sensation to be not wholly unpleasant.

"You're not injured, are you?" Braun says. She wonders if the 'troubled comrade' tone of voice is just an act. It sounds genuine. "You were very pale on the way back," he continues.

"Certainly not. I simply cannot seem to remember how to use my legs, though in exchange I have found my misplaced sense of humour. It is a rather dismal trade, if you ask me."

"You didn't see her bump her head on something?" Braun says to Bertholdt.

"No."

"I only need a moment," she huffs. "Seeing that silly poltroon decide to execute Eren made me light-headed. That white-livered bloody nigmenog is a disgrace! Where is his honour?!"

Having exhausted her supply of bad words she breathes deeply, trying to piece herself together. This is unseemly behaviour for an agent. What right does she have to fall apart now that she suspects what she suspects? Her kinsmen need her. Papa needs her.

"There," she says and gathers her legs underneath her, rising to her feet. "Thank you for the water, Bertholdt." She hands him the bottle.

"Don't mention it," he says with a humble tip of his chin.

"Iris?" Braun says with the look of a man trying to solve the mystery of flight. "What the hell is a 'nigmenog'?"

"Find a looking glass, and you might see one."

They wait in silence. Garrison soldiers crowd in around them, the general mood being rather dark, and in some cases even mutinous. There's a scent of gun smoke in the air, a sharp and metallic reek of sulphur that does little to lighten the mood of the soldiers. The tension grows and spreads, riotous thoughts being as infectious as any plague once you crowd disillusioned and frightened people together. But before the situation reaches a boiling point, Iris sees the Commander step to the edge of Rose with someone who might be Eren close at his side.

"ATTENTION!" Pixis booms, and the vocalization is so startlingly sonant that soldiers and mutineers alike fall immediately silent.

"I will now explain our strategy to recapture Trost District! The goal of this operation will be to plug the hole in the broken gate!"

Could Eren know what happened to be founder, or be in league with the one who knows?

"Let's talk about the operation to "reclaim Wall Maria" from four years ago! It sounds good, does it not?! But it was really just a way for an overburdened government to reduce the number of mouths they had to feed! We survived because they were forced outside to meet their fate! It is a sin of all mankind, including me! We managed to avoid open war only because the residents of Maria were so few and powerless, but what about next time?! If Wall Rose is breached it will not be enough to sacrifice 20% of the remaining population. Sina can only feed half of us! It will be war! Titan's will not be the ones to devour us, we will kill each other until there is no one left! There is no other wall to retreat to, nowhere to run; I ask that if you are going to die, die here!"

The soldiers begin to talk amongst themselves while they wait for the captains to arrive with further instructions, all speculating whether or not this is a lost cause, and questioning how long the Armed Forces has been in possession of such a weapon as Eren Yeager.

"If you are to die, choose to do it here," Bertholdt says thoughtfully.

"Which words will make men throw themselves at their enemy without fear of death, thought of surrender, or question of why?" Iris says, and sees in Braun's face that he remembers.

"A sense of unity, purpose, and the hope that one man might make a difference, will make people do things they would never have dreamt of doing on their own. Appeal to their sense of honour and imply the possibility of unending glory, and men will go to their deaths for you. It is a simple concept really, but even so, the Commander said it very well."

"Sometimes you frighten me," Braun says half-jokingly.

"Armin would have a more eloquent description ready, I am sure."

"Yes, he is too dark for his own good sometimes."

Iris looks at Bertholdt, whose calm face might hide all sorts of inner workings, and it strikes her that she is close to powerless next to them. All that shields her from their overwhelming powers is her ignorance.

She shivers, suddenly cold.

"Trainees of the 104th, attention!" Weilman is back. He shouts and waves his arms in the air, as authoritative as a skunk in a marketplace. "Your objective will be to enter Trost and to draw the titans towards the north-west corner of the district, thereby clearing a path for trainee Yeager and his escort. Your primary objective is not to engage the enemy, but each dead titan means there is one less of those monsters to endanger Yeager and the mission. Any questions?!"

Most likely there were many questions, but none that could be answered by Kitz Weilman.

"To the wall!" he orders, and the amassed power of the southern Garrison and the 104th moves as one.

Later, though she would not presume to say how much later, Iris pauses atop the roof of a squatting residential building to wipe the sweat from her eyes. The sun's position has changed while they have been at their perilous work, sinking slowly towards the western horizon. Though they have hours of daylight still at their disposal, the light itself has begun to take on the golden yellow hue of late afternoon.

She has not seen the flare that would to signal Yeager's advance, but she might easily have missed it in the chaos.

The rhythmic thumping of large feet announces the arrival of a titan somewhere close to her position. Judging from the sound it is bi-pedal and rather slow, but assuming too much is dangerous when the abnormal ones can change their behaviour rather quickly. She looks left and right, seeing nothing but empty streets. The buildings surrounding her position have two floors however, making them a good bit taller than this squatting hovel. She should find some higher ground.

She scales the taller building on the opposite side of the street, immediately seeing the roughly twelve meter titan walking lazily in her general direction. According to the Book of Eld, one of the Council's most precious heirlooms, the titans' features all vaguely resemble the people they once were. If this is true then whoever the man-turned-titan coming for her had been, he must have had a disproportionately large mouth. Its maw stretches from ear to ear, grinning liplessly through clenched teeth. Above a bulbous nose glimmers round guileless eyes that stare right through her.

Iris checks that her blades are sharp, deciding that it is just as dangerous to attempt to lead it to the horde as it is to fight it here, though the low building leave her at a disadvantage. The adjoining building to her left offers an additional level, which would allow her to assault it from above.

Deciding, she runs for it and aims her grapples right below the eaves, feeling the tug and hearing the 'whoosh' as she is propelled forward. She notes that the titan is close behind her, when suddenly she hears her mechanism emit a loud metallic clacking sound. A moment later it dies.

Her head hits something hard, leaving a dull ringing in her ears. She has some idea that she falls a short distance, and then the world fades to black.

She comes to with a start, her heart instantly leaping up into her throat, head pounding viciously as she sits up. Stars and little bursts of colour dance before her vision. Desperately, she blinks again and again while a voice in her mind screams that the titan should be on her now.

A narrow tunnel of vision opens up, and she finds herself looking right into a large, round eye. It stands only a few meters away, peering at her as if in question of what she is doing. Slowly, almost ponderously it begins to raise its arms. Disproportionately large hands appear, taking a firm grip on the edge of the roof. Then it heaves its cumbersome body forward in an attempt to climb the roof.

She leaps to her feet, the soles of her boot pounding against the tiles as she sprints towards the short end where... where the gap is too far for her to jump across. There is nowhere to go.

Something crunches behind her and the roof shudders. She looks behind her and sees the hole where the titan's body has sunk through the roof and down into the level below. The structure within groans and trembles as it begins to collapse in on itself, slowly at first, and then with increasing speed. The tiles beneath the feet come loose and begin to slide towards the centre where the titan is digging its hands into the structure like a burrowing ferret, its great maw opening and closing in anticipation.

Iris struggles to stay upright and scrambles backward as the tiles form a landslide down towards the titan's big ugly face. Her foot slips and tangles itself on the other one. She lets out a piercing shriek, and with her arms flailing she lands on her backside, sliding faster and faster towards that enormous, lipless mouth.

The air around her smells of sulphur, and the sun feels warm against her face as she tumbles helplessly to meet her end. Seeing the edge of the roof just ahead she uses all the strength she has to push herself off, tucking her limbs in as she dives into that great, open mouth. She takes one last gulping breath, praying to whatever might be listening that the last thing she feels will not the teeth biting down into her flesh.

In a gust of hot air she lands on something soft, slimy and wriggling. The titans teeth close with a deafening 'clack', and the mouth around her begins to tilt back, pushing her down towards the narrow passage of the titan's throat. She scrabbles to find purchase, blindly grabbing at what might be molars but everything inside is coated with a thick layer of slippery saliva. Something disgustingly soft slaps against the back of her head before she is sent sliding down its reeking gullet. She struggles to breathe but there is no air. It is so hot in here she feels as though she is being boiled alive. Her lungs scream for air and her eyes water. The compact darkness presses in, heavy and stifling. She opens her mouth wide and in great spasms she gulps down a thick slime that burns her insides like acid. Her body convulses; arms and feet punching into soft, hot tissue to no avail.

Then the feeling of drowning fades.

Her body falls away, like she is a snake shedding its old skin. The frail shell that housed her soul expires, leaving her spirit to soar free. She sees a bright, warm light, and in the light she sees the face of her god; golden and shining like the sun. It calls to her:

_Iris... Iris..._

Soaring on invisible wings, she passes into the light.


	13. 13

**13**

* * *

She floats in endless space, soaring up and up towards the light. She feels a shaking as if something has been struck with an otherworldly force, deep tremors reverberating in quick but steady beats.  _Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump..._  Almost like a... like a beating heart?

The light is brighter now, clean and warm and glowing and in the light she sees the Lord's face; stern and hard. He calls to her, distantly, as if a vast sea has opened up between them and instead of bringing her closer the current carries her away. The sounds of the sea is in her ears; waves come crashing down upon her, shoving her into the murmuring depths... But it is not the darkness of the abyss that envelops her, but the light. It grows even brighter, hotter, burning as if the Lord himself has taken a spear of light and driven it into her skull. She tries to raise her hands to shield herself but something holds her down. There is a great pressure against her chest, pushing down in pulses making her bones groan and creak. Her insides are on fire. Something oily and foul twists and lurches deep inside her, and with a strong spasm it leaps up her throat and spews from her mouth like a geyser.

She coughs up a jet of foul tasting slime and draws air into her lungs in great gulping breaths. Wind, voices, screams and cannon fire hits her in a great cacophony of sound as she lays there, gasping like a fish on dry land. The sunlight stings her eyes and the breath burns in her lungs, but the dispassionate face of God still hovers there above.

"Lord?" she wheezes in the old tongue, voice barely audible.

The sounds and smells and sensations are overwhelming, stinging her senses like hundreds of tiny paper cuts. Her memory is a blur of light and darkness.

"Lord...?"

"Huh?" another voice says, and Iris is cast into shadow. "What was that? Is she speaking in tongues? You know, some people come back all scrambled in the head when you do that to them... Trainee? Hey, trainee?"

She blinks, hoping to clear her eyes. A face come into view, almost close enough for her to count the lashes framing his hooded, hazel eyes. His complexion is so pale he looks like a ghost, lips thin and bloodless and the gaze so often alight with mischief and good humour is now flat and vacant. The pressure against her chest is from his hands, one on top of the other. The multiple compressions he administered to restart her heart has left her skin and bones and tissues feeling bruised and battered.

"Alright trainee, unhand the young lady now. Good," the voice she does not recognize says and Braun sits back, taking his hands from her chest. He looks at her as though he sees a ghost, his body still and stiff as a statue.

Another face dips into her line of sight, an older man by societal standards, face partly disfigured by bushy brown whiskers. The patch on his jacket pocket displays the Garrison's coat of arms, two roses on a grey shield.

"Are you alright, young lady? No eh... brain damage, mayhaps?"

"Pardon me?" she croaks, mouth tasting of something like fermented rat carcass.

The man's mouth widens in a slow smile. "Oh good, good. You are both very lucky to be alive. Rest now, and pray for our souls, if you will."

The Garrison soldier walks away, the sound of his receding footsteps almost immediately swallowed by the general clamour. Iris pushes herself up to a sitting position. She feels as though she has been mauled by a bear, or possibly sat on by a titan. A thick, stinking slime coats her clothing, her skin and her hair. She is missing one boot, and someone has removed her gear and leather harness. Braun still sits beside her, his legs folded underneath him. His big hands lie limp on his lap as if he has forgotten what to do with them. Somewhat troubled by his non-responsiveness she leans a little closer, observing that his pupils are thin as pin-pricks. He shivers from head to toe.

"Reiner?"

He blinks slowly like an owl or a man in the midst of a drunken stupor. His eyes move to her, expression still vacant. The thin, blueish line that is his mouth quivers slightly, but he does not speak. She gets to her feet, groaning slightly as the muscles in her chest tighten in protest. Bending, she takes the blanket she had lain upon and drapes it over Braun's shoulders. He flinches as her hands brush against him, eyes blinking more rapidly as if trying to clear the fog that has seized him.

"What were you even doing there?" he breathes, voice barely more than a whisper. He puts a leg forward and rests his elbow on his knee, putting his head in his hand. His breath coms in sharp, shaking bursts.

She sits down, half facing him.

"You have suffered a shock. Try to breathe slowly."

"I am."

But he is not. He is almost panting, sweat rolling down his neck in large saturated beads. For purposes of interrogation this might be an ideal time to harass him with questions.

"I was eaten," she says rather matter-of-factly, in case her covered in rancid saliva was not already a dead giveaway. "What happened?"

He rubs his face on his hand as if the memory burns inside his brain.

"I'm not sure. It all happened so fast. I can't seem to keep track of what happened when. I killed it I guess... and there you were, lips all blue, not breathing."

She waits, watching his shoulders rise and fall. The risk he had taken... He could have been eaten, and he knows it. But he had done it anyway.

"Did you see what happened? Were you close to me the whole time?"

He shudders, and it amazes her how such a big, brawny person can manage to look so small.

"I think I heard you scream."

He turns his face away, gazing down the length of the wall to the point where their comrades have gathered, some dangling from the side of the wall like four-legged spiders. The titans wait below them in a pressing, urgent mass, staring up with their strange faces, so human looking and yet so completely inhuman.

Still turned away Braun speaks. His voice is low, the words slow and somehow grudging.

"I kept thinking "What was the last thing I said to her?". I have no idea. That doesn't seem right, does it? I should remember if it was something kind or something harsh... But I can't. It's all a blank."

"Oh," she says quietly.

Why would he say something like that? Her left hand grips her right wrist, squeezing hard, nails digging into her skin. Why would he have done something this stupid at all?  _Especially_  if he had...? She had checked her gear very carefully before leaving headquarters. There had been no dents or scratches, no rattle or clang as she tested it.

She swallows hard.

"Reiner," she says, voice very calm. "My gear malfunctioned. Do you think someone might have tampered with it?"

His head snaps around, eyes wide and white as boiled eggs. What little colour had returned to his cheeks drains away in an instant.

"What?! Why do you think someone would do that?"

She looks him in the eyes, looking for the lie.

"I inspected my equipment before our retreat. But I suppose there must have been damage I did not see, or I damaged it during the operation."

He makes a strangled noise of discontent deep in his throat. "That was too close. Way too close," he grumbles, voice like gravel against glass. He shakes his head and closes his eyes, a ghost of anger or frustration crossing his face.

The trio would not have done such a shoddy job of it if they had realised she knows who they are – They would kill her and be done with it... Right?

Braun and Iris contemplate their separate thoughts in silence. The initial signs of shock in Braun subsides, his breathing becoming slower and more even, and his rapidly contracting muscles relax. The fragmented memory might be a whole other beast for him to battle though.

"Twice now. You have gone far beyond that which duty requires, and I want you to know that I am grateful," she says, finding that his noble acts are only diminished by such futile pleasantries, and yet she must say them. "I owe you-"

"Don't-" he interrupts. "You don't owe me anything. I didn't do it for that." He runs his hand through his hair, his shoulders tight and hunched, gaze introverted.

Iris thinks about the light, bright and yet mild, infinite and yet soothing. Real, or just the last imaginations of a dying consciousness?

"I thought I saw the face of God," she muses. "But it must have been you," she says and lets out a giggle.

Braun jerks as if he finds the sound shocking. His head snaps around and he stares at her, mouth hanging open like a fly trap. Something like outrage shines in his eyes as if to say that how dares she do something so thoughtless in this situation, but then a slow, good-natured smile lights up his face.

"Close enough," he grins.

Momentarily stunned by such flagrant blasphemy she covers her mouth with her hand, as if to keep the Lord from seeing the mad little smile there. Then a realization suddenly hits her in the head like a sledgehammer.

"Eren!" she gasps, remembering why they are here. She leaps to her feet, one foot bare against Rose's cool, hard surface, body screaming in protest of this abuse. She turns to Braun and tugs at his sleeve. He allows himself to be pulled to his feet and dragged towards the southern edge. "The mission! I never saw the signal."

"There was a red flare a while ago, but the Commander didn't order the retreat. I think Armin went to find Eren."

"Cinerus," she mutters.

Karl Fritz's treaty forbids all public worship of her gods, but an utterance here and there can hardly be construed as worship when a full scale attack on the walls does not seem to qualify as an act of war now, can it? The world forgot, but her people remember Cinerus, the great trickster. He is the god of misfortune, famine and sickness, a necessary evil in a world where balance is everything. Old man Fritz's view of the perfect society had no place for gods of moral ambiguity however. The absolutes of good versus evil, life versus death, and black versus white are the sole contents of Karl Fritz's ideology; this kingdom its embodiment.

"Don't worry" Braun says, taking no note of the name, "Bertholdt is still out there. He will protect Eren if it comes to that, and you know what Mikasa is like. Besides, Eren is too stubborn to fail. He'll do it, I know he will." He sounds rather cheerful at the prospect.

She frowns at this sudden bout of gaiety. Strange.

"Yes, I believe he will," she says, and sits down close to the edge.

With the blanket still around his shoulders Braun folds his lean, muscled legs and sits down beside her, a respectable distance away this time. Scanning the horizon in search of smoke she realizes that despite the relatively short distance, there is no way they will be able to see whether or not Eren fulfils his duty. The flares will be the only messenger of triumph or downfall.

The wind changes and she catches a rather potent whiff of something putrid. Carefully, as if approaching a sleeping bear, she sniffs her left sleeve and confirms that she is indeed the source of the awful stench. She shudders.

"It's not that bad," Braun says, though his face suggests he might have said so even if she had been rolled in pig's manure.

"I smell like a latrine."

"Well..." He shrugs, grinning rather impudently. "You should burn that uniform later."

"I will."

They sit in silence for some time.

"Iris, I-"

"Look!" she shouts, pointing south to where a green flare billows towards the sky. She turns to Braun, smiling madly. "Eren, he did it!"

"Told you so," he grins.

* * *

Thirty-six hours later, cheering in the last thing she feels like doing.

They are gathered close together, waiting. The air is already stifling hot, the sun beaming mercilessly in a sky devoid of the slightest hint of cloud or haze. Some of her comrades seem stuck in the decision of whether to swelter in their jackets, or to remove one of the protective layers separating them from death. A big decision, as it seems to require great amounts of consideration. They have been provided with herb scented cloths to tie over their faces and some, as if afraid to catch some mysterious disease from being in the near vicinity of Trost, have already donned theirs. The cloth looks startlingly white in the sunlight, bright enough to hurt the eyes.

Iris takes her bright white cloth and puts it into her pocket. Krista has helped her braid her hair back in Mitran fashion, society contributing to some fort of practicality for the first time in a hundred years. They would no doubt be delightedly scandalized to learn that something so fine and noble was seen in a place such as this.

"Hey Krista," Ymir says close behind Iris. "If you get upset you can come hide behind me. This work will be too heavy for you anyway."

"I just hope we find everyone," Krista replies.

"Every little piece." Ymir shrugs. "Fat chance. We'll have some pyres with actual bodies, the rest will just be junk heaps."

Krista's face turns a little paler.

"Don't say that, it's awful!"

"Yes. Life is awful." Ymir looks up at Iris. "You're with me on this, right?"

"Eh."... Well, Ymir has a point. About the bodies, that is. "Have you handled the dead before?"

"I've seen stiffers before. Taken stuff off one or two," Ymir shrugs.

"You have robbed dead people?" Marco turns to Ymir and gives her a look of badly disguised outrage.

"What's a stiffer gonna do with boots or bread? Besides, I wasn't digging up graves, so it's alright."

"It's unappetizing as hell, that's what it is," Kirschtein says, giving her a dark look.

"Ymir did what she had to do," Krista argues, stepping in front of Ymir as if to physically shield her. The effect would surely have been greater if Ymir had not been more than a foot taller than Krista. "Don't pretend you're any better just because you haven't been forced to make choices like that."

"Don't insult me by suggesting I'm anything like her! Some of us have a sense of decency you know!"

Ymir scoffs. "If  _you_ are what passes for decency I'm glad not to be like you. You're nothing but a fussy, hypocritical little fopdoodle. The only thing of note you have done since you crawled out of your mother was to find a useful way to expel gas."

Kirschtein's face reddens until it looks like there is a massive strawberry growing from the collar of his shirt.

"Keep my mother out of this you bitch!"

"Stop it you two!" Braun steps in between them, using his body as a divider between the two combatants. He is tall and broad enough to completely obscure the two's view of each other, which under the present circumstances might be a good thing, as Ymir leers rather unpleasantly.

"Oh look, the good soldier's here to save the day," she mocks, words dripping with sarcasm.

"I know we're all tense, but nothing will get better from us fighting," Braun says coolly.

"Thank Fritz you're here to state the obvious, thunderhead. What the hell would we all do without it?"

"Don't you think we owe it to our comrades to work together today?" Marco steps up to Kirschtein and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Exactly. We are soldiers, and it is our duty to show those who gave their lives some respect," Braun agrees.

"I'm sure the corpses will be very excited to see your gallantry. But oh wait, maybe it's not them you hope to impress? Relax before you pop a blood vessel," Ymir sneers, rolling her eyes condescendingly.

"Enough!" Iris hears herself snap and she claps her hands together. The sharp sound bounces between the stone building, lending effect to what is really a rather futile gesture. They stop their bickering, and from the way they stare at her you might think she had just torn the clothes from her body and declared herself the queen of the walls.

"How many of you have actually handled corpses before?" she asks, giving them her most dispassionate look.

No one actually answers this question, but Braun shrugs his shoulders in a gesture that could mean just about anything. Behind him, outside of the main group, Annie turns away. Connie manages to look as though he does not quite understand the question. Kirschtein crosses his arms across his chest.

"And you're saying that you've handled corpses before, Bachmann? I bet the streets of Sina are just littered with them."

"My father is a physician. I have seen plenty of death."

"Can't be a very good physician then," Kirschtein grumbles under his breath.

She ignores him.

"Some of you will find that your constitution allows you to accept death with little emotional response. To others, the experience of seeing your comrades faces pasted onto dead flesh will be incongruous and frightening. There is no way to know which sort you will be beforehand, but should you find yourself disturbed it might help you to think that their souls have gone to God, or wherever else you believe the spirit goes after death. What is left of them now is nothing but meat, and all meat decays the same way."

Inwardly, she counts the hours from the breach until now.

"Most of them will still be stiff, though some of those who died first might have begun to loosen again. You might expect the flesh to feel like living flesh, but it will be rigid; hard as iron, cold as stone. Like a suit of skin pulled over a wooden mannequin. Their limbs will not yield, every joint will be rigid. You will see blue discoloration of the skin in the areas closest to the ground. Those who have lost their stiffness might have bloated bellies caused by internal gas, and I would advise you not to puncture them by accident. The smell will be enough to turn your stomachs without punctured intestines, but you will get used to it. They might have begun to turn green, but it is perfectly natural."

Her words put an end to the bickering at least. In fact, they put an end to all conversation, which might be as well. Put under enough stress people rarely say anything useful. She crosses her arms over her chest and waits in silence for the officers and the supplies to arrive. Once they do, the 104th promptly move through the gate and get to work.

Yes, she has seen death in all its stages. The only half-truth there would be that she has seen it through her father's work. King Fritz keeps his small police force inside Sina where nobles and the wealthy merchant class may enjoy civilized society. He also employs a secret personal squad to attend to the matters most pressing to his person. For other matters where policing or just swift justice is required, the king employs several different organisations, one of which is the Council. The Council in turn entrusts suitable contracts, and the training of new agents, to the Agency. Only fully trained agents are used in more delicate matters which require some subtlety, but as it is believed to be beneficial to test them early, the Agency uses selected aspirants in their fifth and sixth year to fulfil simpler tasks. Serving in the "clean-up crew", Iris has assisted in cleaning out money-launderers, smugglers, drug-cartels and bootleggers. It is honourable work – Everyone says so.

It has been some time since she last saw death, but its smell is difficult to forget; rotting cabbage combined with the sharp odour of faeces and old urine, rotten eggs and something sweet like fermenting grapes. Officers walk the streets carrying lists of those reported as missing, crossing out names whenever someone is identified. They meet up hourly to cross-reference their lists, but everyone knows there will be some discrepancies.

Iris sees Braun at a distance every now and then, but makes no effort to speak to him. This is war. He and his allies can deal with it in whatever way suits them. She deals with it the only way she knows – One task at a time, get the job done.

Iris had thrown her stinking uniform onto a brazier in the evening after the battle for Trost, and had not said a word of her brush with death to anyone.

"Iris," Marco says as they stand side by side looking at a globule of titan-spit up containing an unknown amount of what looks to be mostly Garrison soldiers. "You told me the truth that time. About the mission to retake Maria, I mean. I think I inadvertently called you a liar, and I'm sorry."

"It was not my place to tell you such things, but I accept your apology."

"The rest of it was true as well, wasn't it?" he asks softly.

"Oh yes."

He hums, contemplating whatever it is that has steered him onto this topic of conversation. She looks around them, hoping to see someone with a cart containing a bone-saw.

"I didn't want to believe you. Growing up, all I wanted was to serve the king. I thought there were no finer soldiers than those of the Military Police Brigade."

She takes a knee next to the pile of spit-up, peering into the confused mass. There might be a training corps coat of arms in there, she is not sure.

"Do you not find it a little odd that the Military Police Brigade displays a unicorn on their coat of arms?" she says, deciding that it is most definitely the crossed swords of the training corps she sees. "A friend of mine insists that it is a riddle, or a quip."

Marco frowns. "I just figured it was a symbol. How is it a joke?"

She pushes herself back up, sighing as the muscles in her chest seize up painfully. Her body has been in better condition, although she is hardly in a position where she should complain.

"Because you are as likely to find a unicorn as you are to find an honest MP," she says, scraping her foot in the dirt. "Forgive me, I do not mean to besmirch your choice of career."

"Actually," Marco says, tightening his grip around the long pole in his hands. Its wooden shaft ends in a sleek, curved metal hook. "I do not think I will be joining the MP's. It feels a little like I've been asleep all my life, and now that I've seen this I can't un-see it."

He pokes the hook into the messy pile of limbs, curving it around an arm and tugging gently at it as if to see if the parts will give. They do, as the flesh has begun to soften. No bone-saw needed after all. Small mercies, she supposes.

"Have you told Jean?" Iris asks.

"No, he will come to his own decision. But this-" he motions around them. "This changed him. I think it changed all of us."

"War brings out what was already in us, sometimes in unexpected ways."

Mylius is among those found and identified. The letter she promised to send to his parents has already been delivered to the messenger's guild the day before. There are no good words to give to a parent who has lost a child, for what are words compared to a darling son or daughter? Empty, cold things which will do little to fill your empty rooms, or the holes in your life where a loved one used to be. But Iris had done her best to ease their suffering, writing that he had died bravely though she could not possibly know if it is true. Things like that matter little right in the beginning when the loss hits you like a punch in the guts. But when the first pain eases and turns into the dull ache of grief people generally find solace in the belief that their loved person died in glorious combat, saving the lives of their comrades and crying the name of their king. Jean and Marco had gathered some of his better sketches to send along as well. It had felt like very little, but it was the best they could do.

The bodies are brought into the confines of Wall Rose, simply because there is no space in Trost suited to the burning of the fallen. As the wind most often blows westward, the pyres are built a couple of kilometres west of the town. They group the soldiers as best they can for the pyres, with the 104th fitting onto two of them. Almost all of them have been found and identified after thorough searching. Officers pour accelerant onto the logs and straw underneath, and then comes the torch bearers. They light the fires simultaneously to the sounds of bugles calling the "Last Post".

At first the fire only fizzles.

Iris stands at a safe distance, her hands balling into fists as she tries to force herself to breathe calmly. Then the fire catches, flames roiling and rising from the pyres like a waking beast. It roars and grows, throwing burning embers towards the sky as the heat comes rolling over her like a tidal wave. Her heart leaps into her mouth, hammering with a deafening beat like the drums of hell, and she does not even know that she is staggering backwards until one of her feet steps on the other. The fire feels hot against her eyes and the smell of burning men snakes its way in through her nostrils. The stink of burning hair, of skin blackening, fragrant meat cooking and the chemical reek of internal organs turning to liquid smears itself onto her skin and creeps into her mouth until she can almost taste it.

The flames are screaming with the voices of dying men now, the way they had been screaming inside the burning barracks five years ago, far into the western woods. She will never forget it, the sounds, the terror, the men burning like torches while they ran. It follows her wherever she goes; sups at her table, and lies down with her at night. Her hands fly up to clutch at the side of her body where the skin is burned and twisted, but she does not stumble, or fall.

She remembers it like yesterday. It had been a simple clean-up mission; kill the guards, torch the place and kill anyone who made it outside. She had thought it was not enough, not for the heartless beast who had been in charge of the filthy business. She wanted to see the fear he had instilled in others reflected on his face before he died, and with the cocky ignorance of a child she had declared that she would make it back out before the fire caught. Then she had gone inside. But there had been no justice for the victims, no redress waiting inside. The vile churl had faced death with nothing but contempt in his eyes, pitiless to the end. Her clothes that had caught fire on the way out, and though her comrades quenched the flames quickly she was left with scars down her ribcage, left hip and left thigh. Fire is fear. Fire is hell on earth.

She halts her frenzied retreat, refusing to be defeated by a funeral pyre. Steeling herself, willing herself to quash this senseless terror she listens to Jean Kirschtein, the most easily startled rabbit in a nest of rabbits, announcing his intent to join the Survey Corps. He looks almost as if he hopes someone will talk him out of it, but no one does. There is an unmistakeable expression of pride on Marco's face as he hears this, and a moment later he declares his intent to do the same. After such brazen displays of bravery, no one seems to have anything left to say. For the longest time they just stand there, having carried out their final task as one unit.

It is time. She forces herself to take one step forward before realizing she can go no further. The fire is so loud, so bright it is almost like a living, sentient thing. It makes her hair and clothes feel hot against her skin, sending tendrils of panic snaking up and down her back and arms.

"I come to speak for Mylius Zeramuski." Her voice sounds strained and shrill in her own ears, but at least the words are intelligible. She forces her right fist up to rest over her heart, pushing the other down to the low of her back in a trembling, breathless salute.

"I will not venture to say that we were close friends, but it does not mean that I did not feel for you. Some men possess the sort of character that inspires others to die for them. You would not have grown into such a man, Mylius. You were of a different sort. The respect you gave me was not something I had earned, or something that was entitled to me through my station, birth or gender. Your openhanded kindness was not something you shared out of estimation of what I might do for you, or what you could do to me. You met me as an equal and treated me with the outmost dignity for no better reason than that I was human, in your company, and that I had never done you any ill. That is the sort of person now missing to the world. Go in peace. May we meet again."

She takes several steps back, putting enough space between her and the raging flames for her to be able to hear her own thoughts again. Once she reaches what feels like a safe distance she allows her legs to bend, and she settles in the dirt.

These are not the first comrades she has put to rest, and she cannot say that these deaths are more or less meaningless than the ones she has seen before. People die from old age or sickness, by their own hand or at the hands of others, in war and in peace, for something they believe in or for lack of belief in anything. It makes little difference in the end - Death is always the same, once it comes. It is not the end that matters, but what comes before. The trouble with this belief is that it makes her regret her part in this all the more. Realistically speaking she could not have done much to prevent this, but she is a part of this world and must bear the shared responsibility of its failings.

Her people do not grieve for the dead the way these soldiers do for their dead. You never see this many distraught and disillusioned faces around their funeral pyres. Parents may cry for their offspring, and for all the hopes that died with them, but it is still not the same. These people burn their dead out of practicality, to prevent disease, and to use the land there is for crops and other necessities. Her people on the other hand, are of the sun. They burn their dead under its light, and once that is done they celebrate, believing that their words and songs to the dead will help them on their way.

Looking around her now she sees plenty of despair, and precious little belief.

She hugs her knees and imagines her comrades approaching the gates of the gods. She is not entirely sure that the gates will be open to Eld's people, cursed subjects of Ymir, but it comforts her to believe that if not in this life, there might be mercy and forgiveness in the next.

People being to file out once the fires burn low. She expects the showers might be crowded tonight. People usually don't care too much, everyone smells the same so what does it matter, but the scent of burnt corpses is not the usual stink, and smelling of death makes people uncomfortable. Iris stays.

"Are you planning to be here all night?"

Iris looks up at Ymir, realizing that they are practically alone. The fires have been reduced to smouldering heaps of ashes, embers still glowing hot and bright.

"I think I might have lost track of time," she replies.

Ymir extends a hand to her and Iris takes it, her knees popping loudly as she stands.

"Yeah, I figured." She makes a casual gesture to the pyres. "You have to be pretty pig-headed stubborn to get as close as you did. Don't worry, I had your back in case you fainted."

"Thank you." She dips her chin.

"Nice little speech. Who'd have thought you were such a romantic?" Ymir says, grinning crookedly.

"Pardon?" Iris stares at her. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You know - I'd never have guessed you were in love with that soft-eyed sniveler."

Momentarily too stunned to say anything at all, Iris just gawps at her.

"Wha-" she stammers, touching a hand to her head as if to keep it from falling off. "He was my friend - How dare you suggest there was anything indecent about it?"

Ymir dissolves into peals of laughter. Failing to see which part of funeral pyres and insulting the memory of the dead is supposed to be funny, but too polite to attempt to shake some sense into her, Iris waits.

Ymir finally wipes her eyes. The burst of emotion has left her complexion with a healthy glow and her bright, intelligent eyes glimmer in a way that is rather becoming of her sharp face.

"Don't look so horrified, it's not something ugly you know!"

"I did not mean to say it is, but..."

"But I'm wrong about love not being inherently indecent, or just wrong about your little gooey feelings? Sure, whatever." Ymir shrugs nonchalantly, straightening her posture. She strokes her chin slowly, face assuming a rather quizzical look. "Have you ever even kissed anyone, Iris?"

"No, of course not!" Iris says, suddenly not entirely certain whether this is to be considered a good thing or a bad thing.

"Why not?"

"Why should I have?"

Ymir tilts her head to the side, speaking very gently as if to a frightened child. "For practice?"

Iris frowns. She had definitely never thought of it that way. Her friends had sometimes played at kissing, and of course she knows that some people do it whether they are promised or not, sometimes rather unwisely even, but she had never felt it had anything to do with her.

"For practice," she says tryingly. "But, why?"

"Most people are curious I guess; they want to see what it's like. The second reason I guess is that when you meet someone you want to kiss, you might want to have some idea of how to do it."

"Oh," Iris says, suddenly feeling unsure of what to do with all her limbs. She tucks her hands into her pockets and finds that it makes he feel utterly ridiculous. Taking them back out, she asks: "Have you... kissed anyone?"

Ymir grins and seems to suppress an urge to roll her eyes.

"Of course... but don't tell Krista," she jests, winking. She seems to be among the few people who have mastered this art, being able to do it without it looking pained as though a bug just flew into her eye.

"What is it like?" Iris asks, her mouth dry as sandpaper.

"It's not really something you can describe with words." She shrugs.

"Ah." She does not know if she had hoped there would be a good way to describe it with words. "How does one find someone to practice with?"

"I don't think you'd have to try too hard," Ymir grins, giving her an estimating look. "But I guess in general you just pick whoever. You highborn lot would probably have two good options, either someone so low in station that it would just be covered up if you were discovered, as long as there are no other  _accidents,_  or..." She shrugs. "No one would think it's strange for girlfriends to do some innocent exploration."

The memory of Cressida's perfectly beautiful face swims to the forefront of her mind; the mirror of her brother's face, though her eyes lack that icy, cold shade of blue. She imagines the perfect mouth curled into a soft smile, and tries to picture herself leaning forward to kiss it. A shudder starts at the root of her spine, shooting icy tendrils up her back and into her shoulders.

"Ymir," she says, staring intently down at her feet. "Would you...kiss me?" She dares not look up.

She hears no reply but Ymir draws closer, her feet coming into view, right in front of Iris' own feet. She feels a hand on her arm right above her elbow as if to steady her. A cool hand grips her chin gently, turning it up until she finds herself looking up into Ymir's cool grey eyes. For some reason they remind her of cat-eyes, always distant and evaluating, but with the promise of fierce devotion. Ymir's skin looks very smooth up close, its colour like dark liquid honey. She feels Ymir's hand trace the line of her jaw, cupping her cheek lightly. The grey cat-eyes narrow at the outer corners, but the smile does not touch her mouth.

She leans in closer, and Iris closes her eyes. She feels Ymir's lips against hers; gentle, searching. The kiss is light but firm, as in answer to a question she had not known she was asking. She feels the light pressure of Ymir's hand on her arm, the softness of her mouth, and a deep sense of closeness; as if a bridge has been built between their two spirits. She relaxes, fear turning into a quiet, simmering sense of ease.

Then it is over, and Ymir takes a half-step back.

"So, how was it?" she asks smoothly.

"Different," Iris says. "Good. Thank you." The words feel terribly inadequate.

"Happy to help... I think boys will be your preference though."

"You think so? How will I know?"

"Oh, you'll know. You'll meet someone, and then you'll know." Shrewd cat-eyes peers at Iris, then Ymir's grin turns roguish. "... If you haven't already."

Iris frowns. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, nothing." Ymir shoves her hands into her pockets, shrugging casually. "But you know, we never know how much time we have before it's all over. It wouldn't hurt you to live a little. You know, do what you want for once."

Iris looks into the glowing ashes.

"What I want?" she says doubtfully.

She looks at Ymir as if hoping that her friend might provide her with the answer, but Ymir just smiles coolly, waiting.

"... What I want." The words come slowly.

Ymir pats her on the shoulder. "See, I knew you'd figure it out." Her expression is nothing short of smug.

Iris looks down at herself, realising how the sweaty, stinking fabric of her uniform clings to her skin.

"I have to go," she says.

"Mhm," Ymir grins, pushing her in the direction of the town. "What're you waiting for, go."

She is suddenly in motion, hurrying, no, running towards the barracks. Her braided hair whips back and forth with each step, and her heart seems to beat with terrified exhilaration.

"See you later!" Ymir calls behind her and Iris throws a hand up in answer.

The sound of her running steps accompanies her down the streets. Her vision has shrunk to a narrow focus, whole body gripping on that sense of purpose until even the ache in her chest lessens. Soldiers crowd the streets, every tavern full to bursting, every street corner inhabited by someone who might have had just a little bit too much. She gives them a wide berth.

The women's temporary accommodations have been set up inside one of the Armed Force's warehouses. Cots are arranged in neat rows inside, everyone's precious few belongings shoved into packs stored beneath them. The murmur of voices fill the vast space, everyone keeping their voices down as sound tends to carry in here and you might not want to share the contents of your conversation with everyone present. Iris rummages through her pack, plucking at a rather fine blue muslin garb before choosing a plain linen shift and a grey robe to go on top.

The showers in the back room are little more than metal nozzles protruding from piping at the ceiling, the room lacking any fixtures that cater to modesty. It is however blessedly empty at the moment and Iris wastes no time moving to the far back corner where she strips and then steps underneath the nearest nozzle. The first spray of water is shockingly cold, but the temperature of the water rises almost instantly. Washing quickly, Iris ponders whether it was a condition of the nobility that piping would be featured in their society. They had always had their priorities in order after all, and it is considerably more difficult to convince yourself of your own splendour when you reek of old urine.

She dresses quickly and leaves.

Some time later she finds herself facing a tall, heavy looking wooden door at the inner corner of a massive, curving building. She has no idea what sort of an institution this is in peace time, although it has an official feel to it. Its whitewashed walls are well maintained, the windows tall and narrow, and the double doors of the main entrance are of a dark, rich wood engraved with royal lilies and the king's own coat of arms. Other buildings on this street are much less grand, and the courtyard is not even cobbled. She pounds the door with her fist, and waits. Moments later she hears a shuffling on the other side, and it opens with a creaking sound. A rather familiar face peers out from behind it, and with a look of mild surprise Kirschtein says:

"Bachmann."

"Delighted, I am Bachmann too."

He closes his eyes, clearly unimpressed. Stepping out, he shuts the door behind him.

"Is this what it's come to; me playing soldier and you making jokes? Sina, have mercy."

"A considerable improvement on your part at least," she offers.

Kirschtein snorts derisively.

"We'll see." His eyes narrow suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

"Has anyone ever informed you that you are rather ill-mannered?"

He grits his teeth, giving her one of his pointed, withering stares.

"So what?"

"It would not sit well with the Mitrans, should you join the Military Police Brigade."

"Well I'm not, so who the hell cares. Even if I were, why should I give a damn if some pompous assholes like me or not?!"

"Oh, they would like you well enough. They would eat you alive. Mitras is a place for vultures, not good, honest men."

He considers this for a moment, mouth turned down in disapproval.

"Is that some uppity backwards sort of compliment, Bachmann?" His face makes it perfectly clear that he is not amused by this. Not at all.

She tips her chin. "It is."

Kirschtein crosses his arms over his chest.

"Congratulations - You make social ineptitude look easy."

"Eh..." That most definitely is not a good thing? She frowns, wondering how they arrived here in their conversation.

"But I'm glad you were on my squad," he continues, expression suggesting anything but joy. "You did good. I don't get why you spent three years being more useless than shit in a decanter, but that's your business."

Coming from him that is about as good as a glowing recommendation, or so she figures. Absolutely no manners.

"I take it that you do know the proper use of a decanter then?"

He sighs. "Of course, what kind of idiot doesn't-" He turns around, looking at the door behind him as if taking inventory of the people inside. "Actually, nevermind."

Kirschtein turns back to her, eyeing her up and down critically. "You didn't come to talk to me, did you?"

"No," she says sincerely. "I find you mildly offensive even on a good day."

He smiles at this, catches himself doing it, and promptly stops.

"Is Braun there? I wish to speak with him."

"I'll get him."

"Thank you."

Kirschtein opens the door and steps inside, but before he has a chance to shut it she calls out.

"Jean. Some might say you're a useless braggart, but they have not seen your best yet. You got us through. You did good."

Kirschtein snorts, muttering "useless braggart" under his breath as he slams the door shut behind him.

She waits in the dim light from the sconce by the door, and is just beginning to wonder if Kirschtein did not make good on his word when the door creaks open again. A familiar head of coarse blonde hair pokes out and is then followed by an equally familiar face, its stern frown promptly turning into an expression of mild surprise.

"Ah, Jean didn't say it was you." Stepping out he looks her over, taking in her garb.

"Are you busy?" she asks, thinking that it might be a good thing if he is. Then she could go back to her cot and forget all about this.

He looks behind her and then into the darkness on her left, though why, she could not say.

"No." His eyes go back to her, looking at her dress again. "Not busy," he clarifies.

"In that case, would you walk with me?"

Braun's face is perfectly inscrutable as he looks down at her, something she finds just a little bit unsettling.

"I'll get us a lamp, and tell Bert where I'm going."

She leans against the wall while waiting, tilting her head back until it rests against the cool, rough surface. If only this dress had pockets, she would have had somewhere to put her abundance of limbs. Dresses never fit her easily, not for any fault of the dress or its actual fit, but for the fact that she never felt comfortable. They come in at the waist, putting on display all kinds of things she would prefer if they were to pass by unnoticed.

Braun returns with a kerosene lamp hanging from his large fist.

He leads the way, seeming to assume that if she had anywhere specific in mind, she would tell him. She steals furtive glances at him as they go, turning things over and over in her mind.

"Have you heard anything of Mikasa and Armin?" she asks him.

He frowns. "Is that what you wanted to talk about? Sorry to disappoint you I haven't heard anything. Bet they're being held for questioning, since they've known Eren all his life."

"I suppose so. They will want to form a premise for the trial."

"Think there's any risk they'll kill him?"

What an apt question. She is sorely tempted to smile.

"I believe there will be some party calling for it. But I think there might be more who want him alive, but not all for the same reasons."

"Hm... Research, thinking that if they understand him they might learn something useful, like who's attacking the wall and why. What else?"

"Use him in the fight against titans, of course."

"Ah, of course. But those who want him dead might win, even though he closed the breach in Trost. So many dead, and nothing might come of it." He looks down at her, face lit from underneath by the lamp. "Doesn't seem right, does it?"

"Very little about this seems right to me."

"Yeah. Very little."

They turn a corner and see a gathering of people up ahead, predominantly male, intoxicated and aggressively excited. Smoothly, Braun nudges her in the direction of a smaller alleyway, and they slip past without being noticed.

"I didn't know you were afraid of fire."

"I dare say there are many things you do not know about me. But no, I do not enjoy fire," she says, trying to sound non-committal.

He smiles in what looks to her to be a rather humourless way.

"Apparently. Nice words for that Zeramuski, sounds like he was a good person to you."

They do as much good as grass does to a dog it seems to her, when the words are spoken beside a grave. She looks at the knots in the old wood of the wall to her right.

"I wish I had told him those things when he was still alive."

Braun presses his lips together until they form a hard line across his jaw, brows furrowed. She breathes quietly through the lump in her throat. She has buried comrades before, young ones who died long before their time, but it was never like this. She cannot say that they were better people, or worse. They had been her people though, and she should have cared more for them than this Eldian boy who was barely more than a stranger... but she had not.

Slowly, quietly, Braun says: "I wish you hadn't said those words for him."

He takes a few more steps, shoulders slightly drawn back, left hand in his pocket.

"Or rather, I wish I had been that person for you. That good, true friend." He looks at her through the corner of his eye.

"You doubt our friendship?"

He sighs and shakes his head, but does not seem inclined to say anything else on the topic.

She notices little lines of strain around his mouth and eyes. Some people who seem cold to the suffering of others are, but for others it is just a facade; the mask of indifference.

"I have a brother...  _Had_  a brother, once," she says, and halts her step.

Braun stops and the motion makes the kerosene lamp swing back and forth from his hand, creaking softly. He seems surprised, but says nothing.

"My parents were very young when they had him, and it took the gods many years to bless them with another child; with me. His name was Julian and he was just, kind and dutiful. He showed an interest in medicine and Papa took him as his apprentice when Julian turned six. Everyone loved him," she continues.

Everyone loves you when your star is rising, nothing new there.

"A bright and comely boy - He was all anyone could ask for. But... he got sick. The illness is very rare, and always fatal. Its progress is very slow though, presenting itself as fatigue at first, but as it progresses it affects the limbs of the sufferer. The fingers and toes go dark and stiff, some say they eventually fall off. When it spreads to the face it attacks the nose, chin and ears until finally it gets into the brain. Terrible way to die, you see, but that is not the worst of it, for many believe it is a curse. That is what they whispered of when Julian withdrew from society, that he might be cursed. If word got out we would be finished. No one trades with those whose blood has been touched by the curse, no one makes marriage pacts with them, or invites them to their homes. The poorhouse would have awaited us, or indenture. But... not long after we learned of his condition, Julian wrote a letter documenting his "history of insanity" and took his own life. Insanity is unfortunate but as it happens even to the best and brightest he hoped such an explanation might save our reputation. Though some still whispered of the curse his body had not yet shown any outward signs of sickness, and his death was ruled to be nonsuspect. He saved us... from the worst of it at least."

Iris looks up at Braun's stern face, trying to gauge if he knows the value of honour. Without knowing what it is worth, you could not possibly understand what it is to lose it.

"That is why I enlisted. It was a chance to do my part to restore our reputation, as there is still honour in service, and my family will not be burdened with my upkeep. My sister... she is younger than I, and though she was barely more than a babe back then you could already see that she would be beautiful in a way that I never was. I will not go so far as to say that I thought of her when I decided, but I have no doubt she will be able to find a good husband - Not some scoundrel trying to marry his way up in the world but someone true, someone who will not shame her or our family."

Of course, it was not the King's Armed Forces she had signed up for, but the rest is true enough. She had been five when Julian died, and she had not fully understood why the adults would behave the way they did. No one seemed to want to speak to them anymore, although everyone seemed to be talking  _of_  them. Their bustling household grew silent and somber, laughter permanently taking leave of their halls. Mama and Papa seemed to forget how to smile.

The other children had told her the gods had cursed her brother and that his honourable death was only a lie to cover it up, and later that same day she had gone to register for the selection. All she really knew was that it was a high honour to serve as an agent. Five years later Papa had risen to the position as Head of Research, their finances were blooming, and everyone loved the Bachmanns once more.

"And I've lectured  _you_  about a soldier's honour like some know-it-all," Braun says quietly. He smiles in a decidedly self-depreciative way.

"You were not wrong." She says, and smiles; much to her own surprise. "You rarely are."

This seems to please him somewhat, and he shrugs in a way which seems to indicate that he would not have said so himself, but he will accept the sentiment.

"I'm sorry about your brother."

"Thank you. He is with the gods now."

"Yes." His eyes darken. "... And you almost were. If I hadn't gotten there in time to see which titan..." He makes an exasperated hand-gesture. Then he looks her in the eyes.

"I've had so many chances to tell you how special you are, and I've never taken them," he says thoughtfully.

This is as good a time as any, she supposes. She takes a step towards him, close enough for the air to be warm with his heat. He stays straight and still as a pillar as she raises her hands up and clasps them behind his neck. Inscrutable, golden flecked eyes look into hers. He does not resist the soft pressure of her hands, bending obediently as she turns her face up.

It is tentative, almost hesitant; their lips meeting lightly as if asking permission, though permission has already been granted. The skin all over her body prickles, little hairs rising in unison. It is nothing like kissing Ymir.

She pulls away, her knees feeling somewhat wobbly. Braun's face is slightly flushed. He holds his hand out after her as if to stop her, but lets it drop. She thinks he might just look about as confused as she feels.

"We need to go," she says, surprised at the smoothness of her own voice. "Or we will miss curfew."

He blinks, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

"Ah yes, curfew. Would be very un-soldier-like to miss it." He says.

She draws a calming breath.

"It would be a terrible stain on your pristine record."

He squares his shoulders decisively, mouth settling into a curved line that suggests a smile, though the humour does not reach his eyes. He gives her a decidedly cool look.

"Well, someone's gotta be responsible around here. It's getting cold anyway, let's go."

He starts back.

She wants to stop him, wants to ask him to come back so they may talk of the things that really matter... but no. They cannot. It is better this way.

Iris follows.


	14. Devote your hearts

**14**

* * *

The killing of the Survey Corps' two test-subjects caused quite the stir around town. Everyone seemed to be asking who might have done it, especially when all branches of the 104th were called to a gear inspection later that same day. Fewer seemed to be asking themselves why someone killed the two titans. Iris supposes the question might seem self-explanatory – After all, why would you  _not_ want to kill titans? If one thinks about it though, the most obvious answer would be: Because it is against regulations. And as Armin so aptly puts it, the offender or offenders prevented the Survey Corps from learning anything new from the two rare subjects. He does not go so far as to speculate what their motives might have been, but Iris would be willing to wager that he is asking himself just that question: "Why would someone not want humanity to learn more about what titans are?"

Riveting stuff, bound to get the blood pumping.

She pulls her boots on, smoothes the front of her shirt though it really does not help, and then ties the straps to her pack together. The daylight filters in through the warehouse's large glass windows, dust particles dancing through the air inside. She hears someone approaching her from behind, but is completely unprepared to be thumped on the back so hard she ends up almost toppling over.

"Whoopsie," Ymir grins.

"Are you ready?" Krista pokes her head out from behind her.

"Yes," she says, hoisting her pack up on one shoulder.

"I hope none of you are thinking of doing something stupid and selfless today," Ymir says as they head towards the central plaza where the stage for the Survey Corps recruitment ceremony is set up.

"It's my choice if I am," Krista says hotly. "You're always talking about doing things for yourself; so do it, and let me do the same."

Fine," Ymir bites off. "I will."

The plaza is crowded with trainees, not just from the southern branch but from the other districts as well; a great, swelling mass of people, all speaking over one another and putting up a raucous clamour. Jean and Marco stand with their backs to the wall of an adjacent building, Kirschtein his usual bristly self, while Marco seems muted. His hands are deep inside his pockets, shoulders slightly slumped, but as he sees them approach he smiles. Connie Springer looks pale and drawn as if he has done a lot of thinking in a short period of time and the effort has left him thoroughly exhausted. Intense use of an otherwise neglected organ can do that to a person.

"Guys," Sasha says as they draw near. "These two say they're joining the Survey Corps. What is it with everyone today?"

Ymir snorts.

"Stupidity. It's like a disease."

Iris feels a light hand touch against her shoulder, and turning her head she finds Braun's bright eyes turned down upon her. So, someone is having a good day today. Lately a pattern of either cheerful gaiety or long days of intense brooding has begun to establish itself with Braun. She is not sure what is more pathetic, his more and more visible signs of deterioration, or her pity seeing it.

"Hey. Ready to choose?" he says.

"No."

If he chooses the Military Police Brigade today she will most likely never see him again. She had thought it might be better that way, but it seems a ridiculous notion now. Thinking about it, she feels a little like someone has stuck her in the belly with a knife and is now twisting it slowly.

"Well you can't put it off for much longer."

How terribly kind of him to inform her.

"I know," she replies.

To her surprise Braun leans a little closer.

"You should join the Garrison," he says quietly.

"What ever would I do without your sound advice regarding my life choices? And if I wish to join the Survey Corps?"

He smiles, running a hand through his hair.

"Then you'll enjoy the pleasure of my company a while longer, I guess."

She gawps at him.

"You...?" Although it makes perfect sense in a way, as Yeager is in the custody of the Survey Corps for now.

He nods. "Yep."

She does not seem to know whether to feel relieved or filled with profound dread. It would seem impossible to feel both these things at once, and yet she finds that she manages just fine. The experience on the whole however, is not a pleasant one.

Braun's brows arch up. "You seem overjoyed to hear it."

"Oh I am," she says, sounding rather displeased even to her own ears. Once again body triumphs over mind. "But I doubt any reasonable person would join the Survey Corps without some reservations." Good job smoothing that one over.

"You're right," Braun says thoughtfully, to her relief. "It's not about wanting to put yourself in harm's way, or not caring about the risk of dying. There are just times we can't walk away, even if we want to."

"Well put," she says. There was a time she thought such words were empty, but that was before she knew him.

She watches Bertholdt stalking through the crowd in their direction, his face a careful neutral as though this situation is just business as usual for him. Iris heard Leonhardt express her full intent to join the Military Police Brigade at the gear inspection earlier that morning. With Braun joining the Corps she finds herself wondering which way Bertholdt will go; with his leader or with his, for a lack of a better word, heart? She has just enough time to contemplate this before she hears someone calling for her attention.

"Iris?!" Someone pipes over the babble of voices. "Is that you, Iris?!"

She turns around and is greeted with the view of what might be the last person in the world she had expected to see here striding smoothly towards her.

Cressida Wolfbrandt is tall and lean, long shapely legs taking confident steps, her hips swivelling softly as she stalks forward. Her waist is perfectly narrow and her shirt fitted tightly over rounded bosom, the cropped standard issue jacket thankfully lending some propriety to her state of dress. Her neck is long and elegant, skull light and beautifully shaped beneath tumbling locks of auburn hair. She looks so much like her brother, but where his strange beauty borders on the obscene hers is perfectly pleasant.

Her smile, seeing Iris for the first time in three years, is bright and wide.

"My, my," she says, a jarring imitation of her brother in word, tone and pitch. "Just look at you! This life becomes you, I really must say. Even in these dreadful rags I can see that you are practically glowing!" Cressida beams and pulls her into a rather unwelcome embrace; Iris' arms poking stiffly in odd directions while she contemplates Cressida's strange lack of body odour.

"Oh, forgive me," Cress says, managing an expression of perfect magnanimity as she releases Iris from her hold. "I forget how uncomfortable you are with physical contact.

An honest mistake no doubt, they have only known each other a lifetime after all.

"Cressida, I am delighted but admittedly somewhat surprised to see you here."

"No one told you? I was so inspired by your enlistment I simply had to sign up for the eastern branch. Now-" Her gaze falls on Reiner, blue eyes sweeping him up and down appraisingly. "Who might you be?"

"Reiner Braun, second best in the southern branch." He extends a hand to her. She looks at it as though he is some new life form never encountered before; a life form which is now holding out a dead herring to her as a peace offering.

"Charmed." She lays her hand over the top of his thumb, not taking it. "I would advise against offering your hand carelessly. Comely as you are you have a commoner's look about you, and nobles are notoriously fussy when it comes to titles and honours." She smiles sweetly in a way that says she really means no offense.

Braun sets his jaw, his expression otherwise unchanged as he pulls his hand back.

"I thought we were all here as soldiers," he says lightly.

"Oh we are!" she exclaims, horrified that anyone might think otherwise. "I certainly believe so and I beg you not to misconstrue - Any friend of Iris is my friend too. No harm done I take it?"

"No harm done." He gives her one of his most lenient smiles.

"Capital! Who might your tall friend be?"

"Bertholdt Hoover," Bertholdt smiles mildly. "A commoner as well, sad to say."

"I do protest that you are much too tall to be common," Cressida says, raising only one brow at him. "Did you rank in the top ten as well? You certainly look the part."

"Third place."

Cressida claps her hands together, seemingly delighted to hear this.

"And stingy with words, it seems. My father says that wise man guards his words, lest they betray him."

She blinks her large eyes and smiles sweetly.

"I was fourth place myself, and I suppose everyone expects me to join the Military Police now – I mean that  _is_  what we do, is it not; facilitate a society that allows small men to hide behind large walls? Well, "Boo" to that I say. I think am of a mind to follow mankind's smallest soldier or whatever his name is, beyond these big walls. That ought to make those Mitran fops choke on their porridge, don't you think?" She blinks, eyes glimmering with good humour. Then, almost as an afterthought she adds:

"Where did you rank Iris?"

"I did not."

Cressida gawps, her lips parting to form a surprised, undignified "O".

"Oh, but," she splutters. "Oh,  _my_... Well, it simply does not matter does it? Your division fought in Trost, a real battle - That has to count for more than some points on a scoreboard, surely! You always were level headed, good under pressure... The others will be so glad to see that you are alive."

"Others?" Iris asks with a sinking feeling.

"Oh yes, you cannot imagine the impact of your courage had on us. I saw them earlier. Wherever could they have gone?"

She tiptoes, looking around her a moment before throwing her hand up and hooting: "Over here!" excitedly.

Two dark-haired young men approach through the crowd. Iris recognises Galeri first; lean and of average height with a common, friendly face, and only one eye. The other, Titus, is monumental; a hulking giant of a man, powerfully built, neck like a bullock and face like a clenched fist. Put him in a dark alley and someone might mistake him for a small titan.

"Oh joy!" Galeri thunders. "It seems I have finally found my missing Iris!" He smiles, childishly pleased with himself and taps the black patch he wears.

"That was... terrible," she says mournfully.

"I really wish I knew why the ladies keep telling me that," he says with good humour and bows deeply. "On a more serious note, I was so glad to hear you survived the whole Trost debacle."

"Mhm," Titus grumbles in affirmation. Iris has never heard him say more than three words together.

"I will admit that I am rather pleased to have survived it too," she says, and cannot help but look at Braun. After all, he had more than a little to do with it.

"Not that I would have expected any-" Galeri continues, but is interrupted by the arrival of another person.

"Ah there you are." A slender, pale boy with white-blond hair steps out from behind Titus.

"Iris, Cressida," he bows to them. "Strangers, but comrades in arms judging from your dress," he continues, nodding his head to Braun and Bertholdt. "... And you two," he finishes, looking at the dark haired, dark skinned young men next to him.

"Marcus, a pleasure to see you." Galeri half-bows.

"Mh," Titus says, tipping his chin to the newcomer.

"Look at us, together once more," Marcus muses.

Yes, Iris really wishes someone would have seen fit to warn her.

"What about Darius?" she asks, trying to piece it all together.

"Not to my knowledge. You know how he is, half here, half somewhere else these days," Cressida says, shrugging.

"And... Valentin?" Iris asks, though she supposes that she already knows the answer.

"No. My brother has "other duties" to attend to. He is moving up in the world you know." She rolls her eyes and sighs as if she cannot believe how boring it all is.

"I was with him when they informed us that you had enlisted. You should have seen Valentin's face!" Galeri chuckles at the memory.

"Yes... it was quite the sight," Cressida adds dryly.

Iris thinks they really should have seen her face the moment she learned she had been singled out, if it is comical relief they are after.

"Well, Titus and I shall be going. It will be the Garrison for us, by the way. Come find us if any of you join up."

Galeri gives his huge friend a hard slap on the back as he turns around, though judging from Titus face it had about as much impact as a fly landing on a boulder.

"See you, my good man," Marcus says to Galeri's back as he disappears into the crowd.

Titus grunts and follows his friend. Once they are both gone, the five people still present appraise each other silently.

"On the bright side," Marcus says and flips the hair out of his face. His blue eyes are of a shade so pale as to be almost colourless. "If Wall Rose, or one of the other districts were to be breached, the Garrison can use Titus to plug the hole." He looks at Braun and Bertholdt. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Marcus." He extends a hand in their general direction.

None of them move at first, but then Bertholdt throws Braun a furtive glance and takes Marcus extended hand.

"Bertholdt. Nice to meet you."

"You too, my tall friend."

Braun sticks his hand out and gives Marcus a winning smile. "Reiner." Their handshake looks firm enough to crack walnuts.

"A competent fellow, were I to wager a guess. Will any of you be accompanying me to Mitras later today?"

Bertholdt shoots Braun a more noticeable glance this time. "We are qualified to apply, but no. We have decided to go another way."

"A shame. I shall have to bear the journey alone, I believe?" He looks at Iris and Cressida.

"I am sure you will manage," Cressida smiles sweetly.

"Oh I always do. Well then, I shall go find my comrades. Good to see you both again. Good men." He bows to them and takes his leave, slipping through the crowd effortlessly.

Braun looks in the general direction Marcus went, his expression thoughtful.

"Nice guy," he comments.

Cressida titters prettily, hiding the lower part of her face behind her hand. Then she sighs mournfully, as if to say that it really is a great shame, a great, great shame.

"So handsome," she says to Iris as if Braun is either no longer present, or alternatively, not sentient. "But such a bad judge of character!" She titters again.

Iris finds herself struck by an almost irresistible urge to come to Braun's defence.

"Men of honour tend to assume the same of others," she declares, and not as coolly as she would have liked.

Cressida puts her hands on her hips, seeming to contemplate this.

"... I suppose so," she murmurs and nods, her intelligent bright eyes fixed on Iris with apparent interest. "Quite the compliment, coming from you."

Iris tries very hard to seem unaffected by this, but feels her face heating anyway. Stupid, treacherous body. What good is it when half the time it seems to be doing whatever it wants, regardless of her feelings on the matter? She grunts something inarticulate and shrugs her shoulders.

Cressida turns to Braun again.

"Marcus is a nice enough fellow when you meet him like this I suppose," she says happily, eyeing the stage up front. "It will not be long now; you best do your choosing in peace. I do hope to see you later Iris, even if you join the blockhead-brothers in the Garrison. We should get together sometime."

"I will surely consider it."  _"... Until I am old and grey and my bones start creaking."_

"And I would be absolutely  _delighted_  to get to know you boys in time." Expressing the outmost respect Cressida curtsies, winks at Iris, and stalks off.

She watches the girl's shapely form disappear into the swelling mass of bodies.

" _Sleeper agents within the King's Armed forces?"_ She supposes that it should really not come as a surprise, being one of them herself. In addition to this, a most uncomfortable suspicion begins to assert itself, one that says she will not be recalled to Mitras once her mission is complete. If the project is reaching its completion... But, stuck with the Survey Corps for life? And that is to say; for what will be a short and possibly rather painful life.

"A man of honour," Braun says, and his tone is noticeably smug. "Is that what you think of me?"

She feels a certain tightening in her stomach.

"Yes, I suppose I do."

She certainly wishes that he and his friends were spineless, despicable curs - Because everything would be so much easier if they were.

Braun smiles brightly, and the tightening in her stomach worsens.

"I didn't think I'd see the day  _you_  would defend me with words. But I'm glad to hear it." He crosses his arms over his chest, peering at her through narrowed eyes. "Always wondered what kind of friends you had growing up. Colourful bunch."

"Our families share close ties," she says mildly.

Braun looks as though he is about to say something when an army official at the centre of the stage opens his mouth and bellows: "Trainees! Fall in! Face the stage!" People around them start pushing in closer and in their urgency to order themselves manages to create complete disorder. Someone shoves into her from behind, pushing her up against Braun.

"You alright?" he asks, steadying her by the shoulders.

"Yes, thank you," she murmurs and loosens herself from his grip.

Iris faces towards the stage, her skin feeling cool and tingly where his hands had lain. They have not said a word of the kiss since that night. She figures that it is so because it did not mean anything to either of them. A harmless experiment on her part, and surely he has kissed enough girls before not to think too hard on it. If he  _had_  thought on it he would have said something to her about it - Right?

She is not sure what she would do if he did... but she has thought about it... more than once.

A man she realizes must be Erwin Smith takes his place at the centre of the stage. His posture is impeccable, straight and proud, his common face set in an expression of dispassionate resolve. His intelligent blue eyes are positively dwarfed by a set of epic brows, fat and furry as a pair of Gerbils stuck to his brow, threatening to overtake the rest of his face should they someday feel so inclined. Deep lines cut across his square forehead as if he spends quite a lot of his time frowning, and considering his line of work, Iris imagines that he does.

He introduces himself and then goes on to saying: "With the recent attack you all got to glimpse what every Survey Corps soldier faces on our excursions outside the walls. Nothing could have prepared you for it. You have suffered and you have sacrificed, and most of all, you have seen what the titans would take from us, should we let them."

Erwin gives them all a long, hard look, and with each passing moment Iris feels the time of the choosing drawing closer. Choose the Survey Corps, and there is no going back. Everyone knows the Survey Corps is a death sentence. Is that how it will end for her; pieces strewn across the grassy plains outside the walls? How absurd. She had always thought it would be a bullet or a knife in the guts, because that is how most agents end their days. Being eaten was a thing of the past, or so she thought. To be honest she had been far more occupied with the death of others than she had been with her own. It is not something you want to think too much on, beyond accepting its inevitability.

"I cannot tell you much about Eren Yeager, but I can say that he has proven himself a staunch friend of mankind, willing to risk his life to achieve our victory. I can also tell you that we believe there is valuable information hidden in the basement of his house in Shiganshina District. If we can get there I am confident that we will learn something that will help us free ourselves from the chokehold the titans have on our civilization. It could help us end this century of senseless slaughter."

Iris finds herself gawping at the commander of the Survey Corps, jaw flapping open, eyes staring in stunned disbelief.

" _In his..._ _ **basement**_ _?! The truth lies forgotten inside some commoner's dusty basement?!"_ Iris feels her mouth start twitching. Who the hell is Yeager? He is most definitely at least half Eldian, but it is not as though there would be secret documents detailing world-history lying about in his basement even if one of his parents had been one of her people. The Council would never allow it. There is only one explanation that seems the least bit plausible; one of his parents must have been an impostor, an invader from the world outside.

And she might just have stumbled over a secret even the Council had not been aware of.

"The path that took one of our battalions four years to clear is now lost to us, and during those four years of work we lost ninety-percent of those soldiers. I will not hide the truth from you; those who join us today will participate in an expedition outside in a month from now, and out of you only fifty-percent will return. Those who do will go on to become experienced soldiers with a much higher rate of survival. If you are among the brave souls willing to risk their lives for a dream, remain here."

He clears his throat, as if to give them time to think. Iris feels her face twitching strangely, muscles in her cheeks and mouth straining, her jaw clamped so firmly shut that her teeth ache a little. It takes her a moment to realise that she is smiling.

" _I wanted our neighbours to greet us as they went past. I wanted our name to carry weight with the right people. I wanted Mama to sleep at night again. I wanted to be at the forefront of my father's thoughts instead of some obscure background character."_

"Let me speak plainly," Erwin continues gravely. "The majority of those who stay here and enter the Survey Corps today will most likely die. Ask yourselves if you really have it in you to sacrifice your life for humanity. That is all I have to say. Those of you who wish to join another division are dismissed," he drones. Business as usual for the commander of the Survey Corps.

" _I got everything I wished for."_ She feels her smile twitching.  _"But I forgot to wish for a life. What a blunder."_

All around her people begin to turn, slowly at first, but as soon as they notice they are not alone in their retreat they speed up. Quicker and quicker they move, as if once their feet get started they cannot stop. The king's finest fleeing before the titans once more, or as close to it as you might come in this setting.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Leonhardt turn around and begin to walk away. She does not spare her traitor comrades a single glance as she walks past them. Bertholdt's eyes follow her as she goes, his head turning slowly, gaze forlorn. Braun just looks ahead, his jaw firmly set, face betraying nothing but determination. Seeing him standing there, still and resolute, Iris finds herself overwhelmed with a sense of foreboding. Her skin prickles, and it is hard to suppress the image of death standing alongside her; looking over her shoulder, its cold breath trickling down her neck.

" _Survey Corps."_

She is unable to suppress a loud giggle. It bursts out between her lips, startlingly inappropriate in its gaiety. The soldiers passing by on their way out give her a wide berth, and seeing their wild stares she giggles even harder.

After some minutes of shuffling and murmured conversation the sound of receding footsteps fades, and what remains in the plaza is a small gathering of grim looking young soldiers... and her. She lifts her eyes and takes in the sight of the remaining comrades, twenty or so in all. The half-hysterical laughter dies on her lips as her gaze falls on Krista and Ymir.

Commander Smith's voice comes drifting into her ears: "If you were told to die, could you do it?"

Whether it was intended as a rhetorical question or not, someone feels inclined to reply

"I don't want to die!"

Well that is a relief, or the Survey Corps might soon find themselves understaffed.

Erwin Smith welcomes them all, his salute nothing short of magnificent in its impeccable straightness. Even a sword might fail to appear as rigid as the commander of the Survey Corps. She can only assume that the inflexibility does not extend to his person, or he would most likely not stand here today as one of the most revolutionary commanders of this century.

After saluting and devoting their hearts, having their numbers counted and being congratulated on their bravery, they are shown to the side of the yard where two large, open wagons await their arrival.

Iris is in the midst of trying to come to grips with it all when Braun steps in front of her. If his mood has been at all affected by today's revelations, he hides it well.

"Think you might be the most cheerful recruit the Corps has ever had," he says.

For one terrible moment Iris thinks she might still be smiling. Touching her fingertips to her mouth and jaw, she is reassured that her regular expression of neutral apprehension is once again in place.

"It was a most unprofessional outburst." Especially if you consider the strong sense of impending doom that had preceded these fits of giggles.

"Maybe a little," he smiles. "But where is the harm." He gives her a friendly clap on the back just as an officer orders them onto the wagons.

Iris sits next to Ymir during their journey into the wilderness. Their carriage driver is a rather abrasive Corps soldier named Keiji, who seems intent on making it very clear to them that there is any number of things he would rather do than babysit recruits.

Trees and rocks followed by more trees roll by as the dirt road takes them up steep hills and down winding slopes. When Iris' mind settles enough for her to drift into a very light sleep, she is all the more grateful for it. She dozes, dreaming of a sitting room bathed in sunlight. There is a young man standing by the window, back turned to her. His long blonde hair catches the light, gleaming like pale gold. He wears his favourite blue tailcoat, the one with the ornate bass buttons... the one he was buried in. Even in dreams his face is hazy and half forgotten, and most times he does not turn to her at all.  _"I will set it right,"_ he says – Always those same words. She no longer remembers how he treated his fellow man, what his dreams were or what his laughter sounded like, but she remembers loving him.

She starts awake and is momentarily confused by the fact that her leg hurts though she cannot remember injuring it. Another second later, and she realises that she is groping around her boot to draw a knife. For once she is glad not to have one, as the thing that woke her in not an unknown assailant, but Ymir.

"Whoops, did I wake you?"

"I do not know about you, but I usually find myself waking whenever someone buries their nails in my extremities," Iris mutters and touches her fingers to her forehead behind which a headache seems to be forming. "How long have I been asleep?"

"No idea, a while."

"Why did you wake me? Is ought amiss?"

She cannot see Ymir's face in the dark, but there is no mistaking the quiet snort of amusement coming from her.

"I figured," she says quietly somewhere close to Iris' ear, "that this would be a good moment to get you to spill the beans."

Iris blinks, trying to comprehend.

"Beans?"

Ymir sighs. "Yes, beans. It's a figure of speech. Anyway, I want to know what's up with you and Thunderhead."

"Oh." She shuffles her seat, trying to find a more comfortable spot. "Nothing, I imagine."

Ymir sighs again, louder this time, and with a hint of exasperation.

"Are you telling me you went to see someone else that night you ran off into the dark, or what?"

"No."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Don't try to be slippery with me. You're not good at it."

"I went to see him, we spoke, and then I kissed him."

"I knew it." Someone she can only assume is Ymir slaps her shoulder rather painfully. "Then what?"

"Then... nothing," Iris says, frowning and rubbing her now aching shoulder.

"What do you mean 'nothing'?"

"It is done with now. It meant nothing."

"So it was bad then? He didn't try anything shifty did he? I could stick him for you if he did," she says light-heartedly, though Iris suspects she might not hesitate to do just that given the right incentive.

"No, no. I-It was... good," she stammers, suddenly glad that Ymir cannot see her face in the mirk.

"Why would it mean nothing if it was good?"

"Because, well... I just assumed he would say something if it did, but he has not even mentioned it."

Ymir chortles, the sound muffled as though she has covered her mouth with her hand.

"Of course he would, I mean it's not like you've spent the last two years turning him down or insulting him whenever he tries to give you one of his clumsy, oafish compliments."

"What?"

"Just to be clear - That's exactly what you've been doing. Do you even hear yourself?"

She cannot help but feel a little insulted by this.

"You are taking things out of context!" she hisses, relieved to be swelling with outrage rather than suffering the terrifying confusion that comes with some other forms of social interaction. "I did not actually insult him on any of  _those_  occasions, and he did not mean anything by it."

"Oh?" Ymir replies sceptically. "And how do you know that? Did you ask?"

"... No," she admits. She had assumed it was part of the games he played.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but sometimes when people say nice things to you, they actually mean it."

"I know that." But most people are not infiltrators leading double lives.

"Yeah, sure." Her tone suggests she does not think so but will allow Iris to keep her delusions. "But if that kiss meant nothing I'm Karl Fritz. I've seen the way you look at him."

Iris swallows hard and wonders what way that might be. There is bound to be any number of ways you might look at someone, and looks are often deceiving. What way of looking at Braun could she possibly have that would allow Ymir to discern her feelings, when Iris herself does not seem able to sort them out?

"What way?" she asks, half dreading the answer.

She feels Ymir's arm move up and then down as if she has just shrugged her shoulders.

"Like he matters."


	15. Philanderer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you for all the kudos and to any of you reading this story!

**15:**

* * *

She peers out through the diamond shaped leaded window panes. The world outside is grey and blurry, melting and reforming as cascades of water runs down the glass. It feels cool against her skin as she rests her forehead against one of the panes, listening to the silence.

At the end of the hallway looms a door beyond which few dare tread, for within lies the medical library and any hapless soul who wanders there risks death by boredom, or being dragged into a dark dungeon and made a subject of experimentation like Eren Yeager. Scribbled into the frame beside the doorway, as though made with the tip of a blade by a despairing hand, are the barely visible words: "Abandon all hope ye who enter here". They say you might hear them at night, lost recruits whimpering softly:  _"Please... I am hungry... my family will wonder where I am... please" –_ But no lost recruits have ever been found. It is of course impossible to verify any of this, though the marks on the doorframe are decidedly there, and Iris has heard enough about the infamous Hange Zoë to be ready to believe just about anything.

The new recruits are currently being tested, their individual skills evaluated to see which squad they will make a more or less valuable addition to. Each squad is led by a squad captain, all of them appearing to be either insane or eccentric to the point where institutionalization might be their only other choice of occupation, should the Survey Corps ever be disbanded.

Iris straightens her posture. The rain pitter-patters against the glass, drumming distantly against the roof somewhere far above her head. All else is silent, and yet she knows that she is no longer alone. The corridor has a musty smell to it, like damp stone, old carpets and even older wooden fixtures, but the person now standing behind her has no noticeable smell at all.

"Cressida."

"I do not think I will ever tire of that trick. How do you do it?"

Iris shrugs. "My nose told me."

She hears a soft chuckle behind her and now that she has been discovered Cressida makes no attempt to move silently. She comes up behind Iris, stepping so close she imagines she can feel the heat from Cressida's body against her back.

"What do I smell like? Nothing unpleasant I hope."

Her breath smells vaguely of onion, but apart from that Cressida is as blank as a fresh sheet of paper.

"Like nothing at all. That is how I know it is you."

"Clever." Iris feels Cressida's breath trickle down her neck with the word. "I almost did not recognise you at the choosing ceremony. You were such a small, undeveloped little thing last I saw you, but look at you now," she whispers.

Cressida puts her hands against the sides of Iris' thighs, gently sliding them up over the curve of her hips. Iris tenses, some part of her wanting to slap Cressida's hands away while the greater part of her is just too paralyzed to do anything at all.

"Why do you hide yourself in these ugly, baggy clothes? I could fit two of you into this shirt," Cressida purrs, her mouth so close to Iris' neck she can feel her lips move against her skin. Cress' hands caress her stomach, sliding in underneath her shirt. Her touch is light, almost playful as she trails little swirling patterns across Iris's skin from her belly button to her sides.

"Is it because of these?" she whispers into Iris ear, touching her fingertips to the knotted skin on her burned side. Iris breathes in sharply and feels her skin prickle at the light touch. She feels Cress' body press up against hers, pushing her forward until Iris is forced to put a hand up against the window frame to steady herself. Cressida cups her breasts in her hands and Iris feels her shirt push up to expose her midriff, cool air moving against her skin.

"Why would anyone care about a few burns when you have these?" Cress whispers, her thumbs brushing across Iris' nipples while her lips brush against Iris' ear. Cress moves her head, and Iris heaves a breath as she feels Cressida's lips on her neck, nipping playfully. She shivers, her nipples rising to Cressida's touch.

"Stop." Iris pushes her back, turning around as she tries to wrestle Cressida's hands out from underneath her clothing. Cress arches an eyebrow but removes her hands.

"I do not want that, not from you," Iris says.

Cressida snorts, but then she smiles sweetly.

"Your loss." She looks at Iris as if solving a puzzle, long dark lashes framing her azure, almond shaped eyes. They had always seemed bottomless to Iris, endless like the night sky. Those eyes are now being narrowed speculatively.

"What?" Iris asks.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Cressida says lightly. Her smile is sweet, as if to say she will not hold it against her, but there is a wry twist to her mouth which makes Iris somewhat uncomfortable.

As if she was just out on a stroll and happened across an old friend, Cressida turns and saunters down the hallway to the medical library door. There she pauses to read the inscription on the doorframe, tittering delightedly at the message before she slips inside, the door closing behind her with a demure 'click'.

Iris breathes deeply, her heart hammering inside her chest. Realizing that her shirt is still pushed up she tugs it back down, smoothing the front of it again and again though it makes little difference. She hears a soft creaking from the far left where the corridor turns a corner, as if someone has shifted their weight on one of the floorboards. Her breath catches in her throat. She listens intently... A moment goes by and then another, but only the sound of her own heart in her ears disturbs the otherwise compact silence. She turns on wobbly legs and begins to walk towards the end of the hallway, thinking that she is only imagining things but needing to be reassured of it. Her step quickens the closer she gets, until she is almost running. The corner comes up and she turns it, her muscles coiling as if getting ready to spring on whatever demented pervert might be waiting.

But there is no one there.

Iris stares at the empty corridor, finding it hard to believe her own eyes. She tilts her head back and sniffs the air. There is a smell, faint but noticeable. Someone most definitely had been here.

* * *

"Alright, female recruits this way," says the small woman. Her dark auburn hair is cut in a short bob with sharp bangs that accentuate her bright hazel eyes. She motions for them to follow her through the door.

"My name is Nifa, I am a senior member of the Survey Corps Fourth Squad and happy to meet you all. Don't worry, we will only do a quick examination of your health and ask you a couple of questions."

The room within is rectangular and the four large windows situated on its outer wall lets in a lot of natural light, giving the room an airy feel. Foldable cots line the walls to the right, the air heavily scented with the smell of herbs and fresh linen. Tall cabinets with glass fronts cover the walls in between the windows, their contents ranging from obscure medical instruments to specimen jars within which floats fleshy things Iris suspects are human organs in various stages of health and deterioration. A white curtain hangs suspended from a track on the ceiling, cutting off their view of the room to the left. From behind it Iris hears a soft clattering, and then a scraping sound like a chair being dragged across the floor, followed by the sound of a quill scribbling on paper.

"Step forward when I call your name," someone says from behind the curtain. "Until then, do whatever you want but please don't break anything."

"I don't think you need to tell them that Captain, they are not children," Nifa protests.

"Huh?" A wild-eyed, bespectacled face appears from behind the curtain. Well mussed hair hangs across the person's face in tangles, making it difficult to see whether the person be a woman or a man. "Are you sure?! They look pretty small if you ask me." The person gives them the kind of look you might give a wild pack of strange beasts when trying to assess whether or not they are dangerous.

Nifa looks at them, each person except Krista being a good bit taller than she is.

"We talked about this when the 103rd recruits arrived, Captain. They are always this size."

"Alright alright, I'll take your word for it," the person who must be Hange Zoë says, and while the voice is decidedly feminine it is still quite impossible to say whether the infamous lunatic captain is a girlish man, or no man at all.

"Just remember," Hange grins. "You break anything..." A pair of scissors appear from behind the curtains, clipping the air with a threatening 'snip snip' sound.

Unable to tell whether this threat was made in jest they nod their heads until the captain and accompanying scissors disappear back behind the curtain. Nifa leans in close, giving them all a rather wide and apologetic smile.

"Don't worry, the Captain has a strange sense of humour that's all. But... don't break anything, will you?" she whispers nervously before making her own way behind the curtain, leaving them to their own devices.

The risk of anyone breaking anything seems rather miniscule, as none of them dare actually move let alone touch anything. Iris fiddles with her shirt. The idea of being stripped and then prodded by a captain with a long history of torturing his or her test-subjects is... mildly unsettling.

With there being only eight female recruits this year Iris does not wait long for her turn.

The first thing she notices as she steps in behind the curtain is the desk pushed up against the wall. It is not the desk itself that draws her attention, but the skilfully penned sketches of titans strewn across it. The person sitting by the desk jumps to his or her feet and swivels around as he or she hears Iris approach. There is something very theatrical about the movement, almost as if it has been carefully rehearsed.

"Ah, Bachmann!" Hange cries, and seeing the captain up close Iris is fairly certain that Hange Zoë is indeed a woman. She has no idea why the captain said her name as though it was a pleasant surprise to find her here, as she is the one who called Iris here, but there are times for questions and times for strict deference, and Iris senses that this might be the latter of the two.

"Yes, Captain Zoë."

The captain gawps at her as though she had said a naughty word, eyes glimmering behind the glasses.

"Nonsense! Let's not waste any more time with such formalities, I am Hange."

" _Pleased to meet you, I am mildly disturbed."_ "Very well, Captain Hange." Iris stands smartly to attention.

"Good!" Hange cries excitedly as if Iris is a dog who has learned a neat new trick. "Now - Do you have any history of exotic illnesses?"

Iris blinks, somehow unable to understand the question.

"Exotic illnesses?"

"Oh you know, something spectacular."

She somehow gets the sense that having suffered the mild form of smallpox as a child will not qualify as "spectacular".

"No, sorry," she says, having no idea why she is apologizing.

"Quite alright, the Commander even prefers it that way, can you imagine. Any other interesting medical conditions?" She makes a rather big cross on the list in her hand.

"Define 'interesting'," Iris says stiffly.

"Have you heard of Captain Levi? The small one, very fussy. He is the most obsessive clean-freak you will ever meet, and I hear he has not slept in a bed in over ten years, not that I've checked myself... I've had others check though. It's true." The captain's eyes glimmer dangerously.

"I see. I do not believe I suffer from anything interesting."

"Ah," Hange says, looking mildly disappointed. "Well then, remove your shirt please."

Iris pulls her shirt over her head, wondering if that is the reason for the sheet. As all junior staff bunk together she wonders if it really is necessary, and yet she is grateful not to have to strip with Cressida looking at her from the other side of the room.

Hange looks her up and down once, blinks, and looks again. Excitement lights up her entire face and her mouth opens to emit some kind of gurgling noise from her throat.

"Nifa!" she calls, and Nifa having been busy folding clean bandages, turns around.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Look!" Hange breathes, her eyes shining with a strange light.

Nifa gives Iris a once-over, her eyes lingering on the burns on her torso.

"Hm," she says.

"Say, Iris. Can I call you Iris?" Hange asks.

"Of course." To say anything else under the present circumstances seems unwise.

"Those must have been very bad! Just look at this! Down your leg too? Can I see?!" Hange burbles and then practically hops over to her desk, pulling a looking glass from within the top drawer.

Despite feeling rather uncomfortable with the situation on the whole, Iris undoes the button on her trousers and pulls them down, letting them bunch at her knees.

"Ah!" the captain exclaims, her eyes wide as saucers. "Can I touch?" Without waiting for a reply she begins to poke and prod the strange looking knotted skin stretched across Iris' ribs. The scarred flesh has a look to it, almost as if someone has taken a meat tenderizer to her body, pounding it to a gory mess before letting it heal over.

"Severe," Nifa says dryly.

"Yes, but look! Look how beautifully they have healed! Which surgeon tended to you? This is wonderful!"

Wonderful is certainly not the word Iris would have used for it.

"His name is Mr. Sychkin, I believe. He runs a private clinic in Mitras."

"Mitras?" Nifa says. She frowns. "Are you from Sina?" Her eyes go to the many small scrapes and scars on Iris' stomach, sides, back, and upper arms.

"I am. I suppose my... physical condition is not what one might expect from a Mitran, but I was trained in the martial arts and fencing." She wets her lips, looking down at the pink scar from a shallow cut to her side. "We were... very competitive."

Hange and Nifa exchange a look whose meaning is not too difficult to decipher, and Nifa moves over to the only cot on this side of the divider, upon which lies a neat stack of personal files. She picks one up and flips it open, her hazel eyes scanning the page.

"Iris Bachmann, born Mitran in 834, the family is nobility," Nifa confirms.

"How very interesting." Captain Hange raises her gaze from the looking glass to peer into Iris' eyes. "I must get a hold of this Mr. Sychkin. That you made it without the wound getting inflamed and killing you is quite remarkable! Such techniques could save lives." She pushes her glasses up, nodding to herself.

"Might I get dressed now?" Iris asks. She suspect the answer will be "no", but something tells her that the captain easily gets distracted and may or may not lose track of time.

"Please, don't move!" Hange cries, pointing the looking glass at her like it is a pistol. "I have not listened to your lungs yet."

And so, with her trousers bunched by her knees, Nifa glancing her way with what might be curiosity or apprehension, Iris breathes in deeply when told to and exhales when told to until Captain Hange seems satisfied. Although no one tells her to get dressed in so many words, Iris takes the captain putting the wooden listening-tube down and turning her back to scribble frantic notes as her cue to pull her trousers back up. She finds there is mixed liberation and humiliation in being treated with such clinical disregard. The captain would most likely have treated her with no more or less dignity if she had been a butchered carcass. Having heard what Hange Zoë does to subjects that excites her however, Iris is glad to be only mildly interesting.

"You are in prime physical health!" Hange beams about two minutes after Iris begins to wonder if it would be improper for her to inquire whether she might leave now. "I'll talk to the Commander about this physician or surgeon-person Mr. Sychkin. We might need to ask you a few questions about that at some point, if that's alright with you?"

Briefly Iris wonders what would happen if she were to say "No", but as this is one of those questions people ask without expecting or really requiring an answer, she decides to say nothing. It would appear that this is just the answer Captain Hange had been hoping for.

"Good! You can go now."

She does just that. Bad with words, worse with jokes, but good at taking orders, just as she always had been.

* * *

Where is he?

It is really not proper for someone of such impressive size to be so... inconspicuous. Some people, whether their physical stature requires it or not, are possessed of such a character they seem to occupy all the available space wherever they go. They are the sort of people that if you ask anyone, whether they be an old friend or a random bystander, if they have seen this person or know where they are, everyone will have some notion of where they might be. Like a stone tossed into a clear pool of water, they create ripples around them wherever they go. All they must do to have this effect on the world is exist.

Reiner Braun is not such a person.

Valentin has an expression for people like Reiner, claiming there are some who "walk in shadow". She does not know exactly what it means, but finds that it is true for Braun all the same. He appears in places, unquestionable as a force of nature only to slip away once the dust settles. No one knows where he goes unless he wants them to know. No one knows his true thoughts, because he does not offer them up for inspection.

As such, he is not always the easiest person to find, especially when your base of operations happens to be a rather sizeable castle.

After a thorough search of the castle grounds, mess halls and lounges, even stopping by the general library though she does not know why she bothers, she finds him perched on a windowsill at the end of a darkened hallway on the second floor. Empty accommodation rooms lurk behind the doors on both sides of the hall; remnants of the days when the walls were young and the Survey Corps was even younger, its ranks swelling with idealistic youth. Those days now ended, gallant heroes having crossed to the other side of the veil, the dorms they slept in have now stood empty for generations.

The passage smells of dust and moulding curtains, though any unlucky dirt met a swift end at the hand of the little captain and his loyal cleaning crew. Humanity's smallest soldier had hand-picked his squad for their skill in battle, or the promise of future skill in battle one must assume, but Iris would wager that within the Survey Corps, or indeed the entire kingdom, none could match their skill with mop and broom. The cleanliness of this stale hallway, when compared to the more lively parts of the estate, makes Durmholz Manor look a place maintained by a sounder of swine.

"There you are," she says unnecessarily as she approaches him.

Quiet, stock-still he sits there, gazing through the glass at the darkening grounds outside. She wonders if this unresponsiveness indicates one of his bad days. It seems likely.

"Are you busy?" She hesitates, stopping an arm's length away.

He stirs suddenly, movements slow and drowsy as if he had been somewhere far away in his thoughts.

"Nah, just thinking. This is a good place for that, since no one ever comes here."

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye and she takes it as an invitation, stepping closer.

"They performed a health inspection on you too I trust? How did you fare?"

What she might really want to ask is  _"Are you alright?",_ but as such a question poses any number of difficulties for him to answer truthfully, and she believes she understands enough about him to have some idea of his feelings without asking.

He considers a moment before answering, then he straightens his shoulders and flashes her a decidedly wry grin.

"I'm in "excellent physical condition" it seems," he says with a self-deprecating edge to his voice. "I might not be much of a man, perhaps not even a decent person depending on who you ask, but hey, I'm as healthy as a horse."

He says it matter-of-factly, without a trace of the self-pity one might expect from someone who utters such words. She opens her mouth to offer some form of reply though she has no idea of what to say. Thankfully, he continues before she manages to put anything together.

"It's alright, you don't need to say anything. Not like you to say things you don't mean just to spare someone's feelings, wouldn't want you to start now."

He slides down from the window and turns around, the look in his eyes steely. Apparently he is not of a mind to spare her feelings by keeping his thoughts to himself either. She tries to decide whether this is an improvement on his character or not, finding that she is so far undecided.

"It's true though. We lost half of our friends in Trost, and the other half are going on this expedition and might die there. I wouldn't have wished it for them, but I can't seem to care too much that they're dead either. No use in sitting around thinking about it, is there? It won't change anything at all," he says darkly, leaning his back against the window frame and crossing his arms over his chest. "... But a good man would care more, wouldn't he? You said "a man of honour" at the choosing ceremony, but what kind of honour is that, if all I do is keep myself alive at the cost of others?"

He looks at her unblinking, the stark expression seeming almost to be a challenge, or an opportunity to shrink back, mumble something about forgotten chores, and be on her way.

"What good would your care be to them now? You treated them well enough when they were alive," she says.

He smiles grimly

"Did I? I wonder if I could've saved any of them if I'd just cared a little bit more, tried a little harder."

Iris shakes her head slowly. Sometimes people just need to die. She of all people understands that. It is just the way the world works, refuse and you will be replaced by someone who will do what you would not.

"I know you did your best, because it is not in you to use half measures." She sighs, and continues: "You are not alone in asking yourself these things. We are soldiers; where we go, death follows. I told myself as much time and time again, finding that it got a little easier to bear each time I said it. Today I cannot even recall the last time I wept for someone other than myself. I mourn the loss of our comrades, but to me even my grief seems a sad, wilted thing. Most of all I mourn for myself, because there was once a version of me who would have raged to see such injustice done."

" _The injustice that places you and I on opposite sides of this conflict."_

"I never had much love in me, but what little I had was for my family. Though I know I love them still, there are times I fear even such caring has cooled in me. I fight for them and would gladly die for them, but if you were to lay their dead bodies at my feet I do not know that I could weep for them."

She looks into his eyes, not knowing whether she intended to shock him or give him a chance to know the person who is to be his murderer.

"What am I?" she asks, more to herself than to him.

His mouth twists, its corners turned down.

"A warrior," he says quietly.

She flinches, more from the weight behind the words than from the phrase itself. The term is a little outdated, no one really thinks of soldiers as warriors anymore, and yet Braun says it as if there is some hidden meaning to it. Thinking back, was there not that one time Bertholdt had said something about warriors? She tries and fails to remember in which context it had been mentioned.

"You believe so?" she says, hoping he might provide some further clarification.

His expression softens a little.

"Yeah, I do."

"You as well."

"Yeah, I am," he says and to her surprise, he smiles brightly. Without any conscious thought she feels her own mouth curl in response. It feels as though they have shared a secret between them, though she for her part is not entirely sure what the secret is.

He unfurls his arms, and as he relaxes his posture Iris realises just how tense he had been before; coiled like a viper.

"Now that we've established we might both be terrible people," he says jovially and pushes himself from the window frame. "Did you want something, other than the pleasure of my company?"

"No," she says plainly. His smile falters a little, eyes widening just a fraction.

"Ah." Rather sheepishly he scratches the back of his neck with one hand. "Well I guess I've done a rather piss-poor job of it then."

She cannot help but wince at the crude expression, to which Braun's expression turns even more sheepish. Strange how she has fought titans and yet still cowers at the mentioning of 'bad words'.

"No. I mean, yes... That is, I mean to say-" She has no idea what she means to say. "I appreciate your candour."

The stilted pleasantry seems to flop to the floor between them like a dead fish. Iris stares at it in mute shock and horror, her cheeks turning warm, then hot, and then finally scalding. How is it that she opens her mouth to say something candid, and instead that rotting monstrosity falls out?

Braun snorts laughter, voice rising an octave and he clutches at his stomach. She grits her teeth, a headache forming instantly behind her temples as she listens to him wheezing between fits of laughter. Well, it is truly good to know that one's personal inadequacies are a source of amusement to others.

He straightens and wipes at his eyes.

"Ah, you should have seen your face," he says.

"What is wrong with my face?" she asks, though she can imagine any number of things.

His expression sobers. "Nothing wrong with your face at all, your expression though... 'twas was funny, that's all."

"I am not good with words," she says unhappily, to which he shakes his head decidedly.

"No one gets it right all the time. Besides, I'm feeling a whole lot better than I did an hour ago."

"Oh." Just how long had he been sitting here alone in the mirk?

She shuffles her feet somewhat nervously.

"Reiner... Would you like to learn how to dance?"

The shadows around his eyes change shape, indicating that his brows have gone up.

"If you're offering to teach me; yeah, I would."

"Naturally," she says and looks around. "This place will not suffice, come."

There is a reading lounge on the second floor which is, at any given time of day, always completely abandoned. It would seem that soldiers are not typically the sort of people to enjoy a good book, or if they are indeed such people, seems to find other places to do their reading. There is a large, open space at the centre of the room where a carpet had once lain, made evident by the floorboards there being several shades darker than the rest of the floor. Where the carpet might have gone Iris does not know, but she finds it likely that it met a swift end at the hand of Captain Levi or one of his underlings. Beating five years of dust out of a carpet is a task in itself, and a damp spot close to one of the corners of the large rectangle seems to indicate the presence of some mould, painting the picture of a musty carpet burning on a pyre in the yard inside her mind.

Braun steps into the empty space, looking somewhat forlorn and unsure of himself. The tight set of his mouth seems to indicate it is not a feeling he enjoys much. She moves in close to him, stopping less than an arm's length away.

"This is a triple metre dance," she says, looking up into his face. "I trust that you can count to three?"

He smiles, the corners of his mouth quivering the slightest bit.

"Don't worry, I can count very high," he says lightly. The fingers of his right hand perform some kind of quick stuttering motion against the side of his leg.

"A reassuring thought," she says dryly. She takes his left hand in her right hand. "Hold my hand this way." She raises their hands into position, and then steps in even closer to him. His smell is earthy and rich, like peat, tar and spruce in the early mornings, and not entirely unpleasant.

"Good." She sees a muscle feathering on his jaw, his lips pressed firmly together, expression grim. "Now put your right hand at the centre of my back, between my shoulder blades."

When his hand is in place she rests her left hand on the tip of his swelling shoulder. They stand a moment face to face, so close she can feel his breath against her skin. His pupils are like pin pricks, face so grave one might think he is face to face with his executioner.

"Do not worry, we will take it slow. I will show you how."

He nods stiffly. "Just hope I won't step on you."

She instructs him in how to perform the base steps, and they repeat several times in order for him to get a feel for it before trying it for real. Though Braun is normally quite graceful for a person his size, his nerves seem to get the best of him in this situation. He makes one mistake, and Iris sees him clench his teeth so hard it is bound to hurt. They pause, he breathes, and they start over.

"Sorry," he says, making her lose count of the times he has apologized. He heaves a sigh, his noble visage pale in defeat.

"It is alright. Start over."

They begin anew and all is going well until Braun's foot ends up in the wrong place and his movement stutters. He loses his balance and comes to a stop, hissing between clenched teeth. He makes some guttural noise of frustration deep inside his throat and stares intently down at the floor.

"Damn it, I'm no good at this," he says despairingly.

"No one masters a skill right away. You are doing well."

"If I am then why do I feel like a complete ass?"

"You expect too much of yourself. Again."

They repeat. Slowly, gently she guides him, having shown him how to lead but knowing that he does not have the confidence or the practice to do it yet. The world outside the windows is dark, the room around them lit by gently flickering candle light. Floorboards sigh and creak beneath their shifting weight, and there is a faint sound of murmuring voices coming from somewhere far off inside the castle.

They complete the rehearsed steps without error, Braun's movements gaining in confidence with each successful turn of their feet. She catches herself smiling slightly. From that point he does better each time, face slowly turning from grim as death to a bright display of self-satisfaction. It is such a gratifying sight she forgets to lead, their movements slowing until they stop moving altogether. His gold-flecked eyes rest on her face, his hand warm around hers, palm pressing gently against her back.

She moves her hand from his shoulder, fingertips tracing along the hard ridge of his collarbone until they reach the hollow of his throat. The skin there is very soft, and very warm. The edge of his shirt is frayed and worn, threads poking out of the small holes along his neckline. He leans forward slowly, giving her ample time to consider all the ways in which this is wrong before she feels his lips on hers, pressing gently, searchingly. It is most definitely a terrible mistake to do any of this, or to even be here, but she leans closer and opens her mouth to him. Her hand finds its way around his neck and she digs her fingers into his surprisingly coarse, thick hair, listening to the sound of their quick breaths. His hold on her is light as if he is afraid she might break, restrained, even cautious.

They break apart and he straightens his back, looking down at her as if faced with an incomprehensible chain of events that he is now trying to puzzle out.

"So I didn't imagine it," he says, voice rough and gravelly.

"Imagine what, exactly?"

"The night of the pyres, that we-"

"Oh," she says. Her mind feels dull and sluggish. She cannot think of anything good to say. "No, that was... no imagination," she finishes lamely, wondering why she is wasting her breath with stating the obvious.

"It was just, unexpected, that's all. I mean I didn't think you – I thought you didn't... and then we've acted like nothing happened."

She gropes for words, and letting him go she succumbs to the strong impulse to wring her hands.

"Forgive me," she says without having any idea what she has done that requires forgiveness. "I suppose that it was a spur of the moment sort of thing, prompted by something Ymir said after she kissed me."

She has just enough time to wonder whether she should not have mentioned that part of it before Braun speaks.

"Huh? ... _Ymir?_ " He sounds very surprised, and perhaps just a little bit horrified.

"Yes, well you see," Iris fumbles, feeling a humiliating burning in her cheeks. "I had never actually... And so when she suggested there was some element of practice to it I asked her to kiss me, whereupon she did."

He frowns deeply. "But Ymir is... and that friend of yours- Wait... You like women?" He runs a hand through his hair, rubbing aggressively at a spot on his neck as if he has discovered that it is caked in mud.

She almost smiles, relieved to be presented with a question she can easily answer.

"No. Or well I do, but not in  _that_ way it seems, which is why Ymir suggested I find someone better suited for further practice." At this point she has become aware of the big hole now gaping open at her feet, yet somehow finds herself unable to stop digging.

"Further practice?" Braun says, eyes narrowing.

"Yes. I asked myself who might be suitable, and it came to me that you always were a bit of a philanderer, enough so to have had some amount of practice, libertine enough not to think too much of it, and I thought you might be willing so I-" She trails off. That had not come out as well as she had hoped it would.

"Philanderer?" He says the word as if it is an utterance in a foreign language, but one he understands enough of to know it is not something good. "You picked me because you think I'm some careless flirt?"

" _No, that is not it."_ But what comes out of her mouth is: "Not exactly so, but yes."

It had been a relief to know he would not think too much of it in case it turned out to be a miserable experience.

His face turns completely expressionless; still and cool as stone.

"I see. Happy to help I guess, but if you're doing this-" he makes a stiff, sweeping motion between them. "Teaching me as some kind of payment, don't bother." He takes a step back from her, jaw clenching, shoulders tense.

"That is not-" she begins but he does not let her finish.

"It's alright," he says in a way that makes her think that  _it_ , whatever it is, is certainly  _not_ alright. "I'm gonna head back to the dorms. Squad assignments tomorrow, better rise early." He retreats another step.

"Yes," she says lamely even though it only adds to the wrongness done here.

Braun turns around, a gust of cool air carrying his scent washing over her as he stomps from the room. The door lets out a surprised wail as he yanks it open and produces a somewhat startlingly loud bang as he slams it closed behind him.

She stands in the middle of the darkening room, fighting back the lump threatening to form in her throat and contemplating what she did and said to make this all turn out so wrong. Words never came easy to her, and when they do come they more than often seem to be the wrong ones. She should have said she never even considered someone other than him. She should go after him now and tell him as much... But it would not do to say such things, or even to think them.

Instead she does nothing.


	16. Soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little author's note: As the more perceptive you may have noticed by now, this week's chapter is a couple of days early. Next week's chapter will be out even earlier, on Wednesday, as I am going on a trip and will not be bringing my computer with me.
> 
> This chapter is a little unconventional I realise, but it is a story-driving chapter and rather essential to my plot as well as to Iris' place in the canon plot. I hope you will bear with me, and if you do not – Well let's face it, there are not that many people even reading this story to begin with; I'll take the risk and cross my bridges as I come to them.
> 
> You may also notice there are a couple of words or expressions marked with an asterisk *, the explanations of which can found at the bottom of this chapter.

 

**16**

* * *

It is mid-afternoon and the stable yard is alive with the clattering and murmur of soldiers going about their duties. The Survey Corps horses have been turned out to their paddocks, and a group of the new recruits have been put to mucking out their empty stalls.

Feeling just a little bit moist around the edges, Iris shovels manure onto her pitchfork and tosses it into the wheelbarrow at her side. Horses had been an integral part of her upbringing, and she had found she liked their soft eyes, the smell of hay and oats and the sound of horses chewing. She does not even mind the smell of horse dung anymore; it smells better than a lot of other things a soldier is exposed to anyhow.

Some twenty-meters away Braun seems to be doing his best to act as though she does not exist. So far he is doing a very good job of it.

"Did you see all those carriages arriving up at the castle earlier? I wonder who they were," Krista muses. The Survey Corps had not seen many visitors so far; most of them being messengers riding solo, rather than a whole procession of people at once.

"Looked like tradesmen and their hired muscle to me," Ymir says disinterestedly. "We've got to get our shit from somewhere, right?"

While Iris strongly disagrees with the categorization of valuable supplies as "shit", she is inclined towards Ymir's assessment of the situation.

"Funny, I've never really thought about it before, Krista mumbles. "... Who do you think that could be?"

Iris looks up and sees Krista pointing at the slope leading down from the castle to the stable grounds. Someone is approaching at a steady walk, casually, which seems to eliminate the possibility of it being a soldier on duty, but with the sun in their eyes it is difficult to tell who else it might be.

" _That walk though..."_

Her stomach drops into her shoes and in an effort to disguise this rather disgusting lack of backbone, Iris draws herself up to her full height and wipes what she hopes is all trace of emotion from her face. Battle stations everyone, draw your swords.

He saunters into the stable yard at a leisurely pace in a display of nothing short of royal reserve, sneering at his surroundings as if they have done something to personally offend him. His black frock coat with golden embroideries is expertly fitted to his stature, subtly understated for a nobleman but far too fine to lend any commonality to his appearance. Through a combined getup of dark breeches, well-made but practical leather boots, and with smallsword and pistol fastened at his hip he manages to look very fine, and possibly just the slightest bit dangerous. Not the typical personage one might associate with hired muscle at all.

His flinty blue eyes fall on her and Iris finds herself trying very hard not to wilt before him like a frostbitten flower.

"Ah, Iris!" he calls and hurries his step, taking the time to give her comrades a look of utter disdain as he sweeps past them. Once before her he gives her an appraising butcher's look.

"My my," he says, each soft word a sharpened dagger. "How long has it been, a year, two?"

Two hundred would have been a  _much_  nicer number to contemplate.

"Valentin," she says, relieved to hear her voice express just the right amount of distaste.

"Oh? No, "I have so dearly missed you", or "Thank heavens you are here, for I am lost without you"? Is this all you have to say to your oldest and dearest friend after such a substantial separation? You wound me," he says without a hint of hurt or disappointment; wide grin being of a decidedly wolfish nature.

"Wound you? Lies do not become you, old friend."

He shrugs. "I do not lie, but the truth is as ever, highly objective." He purses his lips as he peers down at her and yet his eyes glimmer with amusement.

"I must say, it is quite the shock to see you brought so low."

"Do say the same to your sister next time you see her," Iris replies.

Valentin laughs lightly. "Oh, I had almost forgotten how wicked you are! Alas, I do not think I shall see my dear sister just now - We had bit of a falling out you see. No, I accepted to babysit that gluttonous man-swine Kringel just so that I might have the chance to see  _you_."

She cannot help but gawp slightly upon hearing this.

"When have you and your sister ever disagreed on anything?" She tries to remember if such a thing has ever happened before.

"We have now, I suppose." Valentin shrugs, his eyes drifting to her right cheek. "Oh my, what have they done to your face?" He tuts, his hand brushing over the healing scabs from when they stormed headquarters during the battle for Trost. His palm is cool against her cheek, the touch light as a feather.

Iris feels her lip curl and seeing this, Valentin smiles unpleasantly.

"Ah, that is right – You fought in Trost. I heard they served you up to those things like a buffet at a banquet. A dreadful battle no doubt; so many dead." He grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"I heard you had to use rakes and shovels to clean up the mess of your comrades afterwards... There must have been the most god-awful stench."

Iris slaps his hand away and retreats until she feels her back press against the stable door. The pitchfork falls from her hands to clatter against the packed dirt.

Valentin scrutinizes her rather dispassionately. "You look sad. But then I suppose you lost some of your little...  _friends_ in the battle _._ " He spits the word. "It seems I forget that you have a woman's soft heart."

Iris looks up from the ground she had been wishing to sink through.

"At least I have a heart," she hisses between clenched teeth.

He stares incredulously at her for a heartbeat or two before tilting his head back to snort laughter through his nose.

"And I am a heartless beast!" he says and smiles ingratiatingly, stooping to a mockingly low bow. "I do confess it! I am a despicable churl - But are you truly any better? Each time I see your mother she confesses her grief to me, begs me to compel you to write to her. Three years and not a single word or visit from you?"

"That is none of your business, Wolfbrandt!"

She takes a heated step towards him and is surprised to see him retreat.

"Very well," he says, all traces of mean-spirited bravado now gone. Rip away one mask and find another underneath... Always another underneath.

"Better go before they miss me up at the castle. I would carry a message back for you, if you do not wish to write to your mother. I am not your enemy, remember?"

With a mocking smile he turns away, and resting a hand on the pommel of his smallsword he begins to swagger back the way he came.

No veiled threats today? ' _Carry a message'_?

"Valentin, wait!" she cries and he halts instantly as though he had known it was coming. "I need to speak with you," she continues, already wondering if it is a mistake.

He turns around, mouth curling in a satisfied little grin.

"In private," she adds. "That message you offered to carry..."

"Of course! Are you allowed to leave this-" he looks around, clearly unimpressed by what he sees, " _castle,_  once you finish your work for the day?" His tone makes it clear that he thinks calling it a castle is wildly inaccurate.

"This is service, not indenture," she says unnecessarily. But when dealing with men of a certain type with sharp sticks in their hands, you must wave yours and let them waves theirs before anything can be accomplished.

"Not indenture? Certainly, if you say so. I am staying at the boarding house in Torreon along with that bloated ungulate Kringel tonight. Come see me, I will tell the manager to let you in. Will you join me for supper?"

Iris exhales slowly, surrendering to the idea.

"Yes, I think I better go as soon as I am finished here."

"Capital! I shall eagerly await your arrival." He turns and continues to go, pausing briefly at the stable yard gate.

"Oh, and Iris," he says, giving her a rather indelicate look. "Wear something pretty. Thy garb doth offend mine eye."

And with that, he is gone.

Iris picks up her pitchfork, feeling much like she always feels after an encounter with Valentin; ill at ease, confused, outraged and just a little bit ashamed as though she has done something wrong, though she has no idea what.

"Valentin Wolfbrandt?" Krista says, looking through the stable yard gate. "He is incredibly handsome."

Ymir snorts so hard you might suspect someone had just rushed up and stabbed her rather violently.

"He seemed like a twisted, foppish, self-important little asshole if you ask me," she says, not even bothering to sound light-hearted about it.

"Yes, agreed," Krista says, half absent-mindedly, "but so..."

"Unbearably beautiful," Iris finishes for her. "On the outside, at least."

Ymir gives Krista what can only be categorized as a 'blackened look', before turning to Iris.

"Are you sure you should be alone with him? I mean he looks like he can't tell his prick from his asshole, but something about him gave me a bad feeling."

Sounds like everything about him gave Ymir a bad feeling. As ever Iris flinches at the use of crude language and almost drops her pitchfork again, but manages to catch it before it rattles to the ground.

"Valentin would never hurt me, not physically," she protests.  _"Unless the Council orders him to kill me, in which case I am already a walking, talking corpse."_

This clearly does nothing to convince Ymir.

"You think so because he hasn't tried anything funny before? All evil shits start out somewhere you know, and it's always some woman or girl they know who gets to pay the price."

"Do not worry, I will be alright. If it eases your mind I will have you know that I will not go unarmed."

She doubts it would matter one way or another should she ever find herself on the wrong side of Valentin's good will, but her friends do not need to know that.

* * *

She taps the door and checks that her chemise and dress are still in good order. The knife, sheathed and tucked into the band of her left garter, chafes relentlessly against her calf, not seeming to care that she is already discomforted to be here.

The door swings open and Valentin ushers her into the room with a flourish. The table before her is smothered by a large white linen cloth, already laden with plates, cutlery and what she assumes to be savoury dishes tastefully hidden beneath bright polished steel cloches. Beside the table stands two solid wooden chairs, clad in somewhat musty looking upholstery which had once no doubt been considered very fine indeed, adding to the room's general feel of old splendour and more recent, pressing neglect.

Valentin looks at her appraisingly, mouth curling delightedly before her pulls one of the aforementioned chairs back and motions for her to sit.

"Good," he says rather non-specifically and lifts a decanter to pour a glass of wine for himself before he moves towards her side of the table, obviously intending to do the same for her.

"I must refuse," she says and puts her hand over her glass.

"Really?" He sighs theatrically and rolls his eyes. "Ply you with drink as if I could not already take anything I want by force? You know me better than that, I hope."

She persists another moment, unwilling to surrender immediately to his superior reasoning and partly discomforted by the sheer brutality of the statement, before removing her hand from the glass

"Very well, but only a little."

He fills her glass to the brim and smiles at the questioning look she gives him.

"What? I will not force you to drink it." He removes the cloches from the dishes and sits. "Eat, and by all means drink a little. Whatever made you come here it must be important, and best discussed after satisfying those of our baser needs."

Ignoring the twinkle of amusement in his eyes, Iris helps herself to some food. It is some time since she has seen a meal such as this; glazed meats spiced with fresh herbs, sautéed spring onions, parsnips and carrots, pickled beets and little gherkins, and best of all, no bread, barley stew or oatcakes in sight.

They eat in silence with Valentin peering speculatively at her over the brim of his glass as he sips his wine, eating little and drinking more. He is taller than he used to be, and thinner too. Is that a hint of dark circles underneath his eyes, adding a certain ruggedness to his appearance?

He leans forward in his chair.

"No one ever looked at me with the amount of criticism you did. It is incredibly gratifying to be here to displease you once again, I must say." He leans back again and produces a cigar from his inner pocket. "Do you mind?"

"Would you care if I did?"

"Of course." He makes a move as though to put it away, but Iris shakes her head.

"I do not mind."

She finishes her meal while Valentin goes through the arduous process of lighting the cigar using one of the candles on the table. Once satisfied with the result, he sticks it between his teeth and rises, filling his wineglass yet again.

"More for you?" he asks.

Her glass is still half-full, but she nods her head. He fills it and turns to pluck his own glass from the table before he saunters over to one of the upholstered, high-backed armchairs by the window. He sits and leans back, eyes half-closed as he pulls on his cigar.

"What can I do for you?" he asks.

She gets up, takes her glass and sits in the chair opposite to his. The smell of sweet cigar smoke wafts over her, bringing a strange nostalgia with it. She sighs, to the last doubting this decision.

"How much do you know?" she asks him, and sees him raise his brows at her.

"Is that a philosophical question?"

She feels her lip curl. "How much do you know about my mission? How much does your ' _dear sister_ ', or Marcus, or any of the others know for that matter?"

"Me? I know everything you know, and perhaps a little more, which is why I offered to help. The others know only that you received a 'special' contract. I bet you feel  _very_ special right about now. Sorry that I and Darius missed the little reunion of old friends, though I expect I will be seeing more of Marcus soon. How did our dear weisser teufel* seem to you?"

"Strangely cheerful. He failed to insult both Galeri and Titus to their faces."

"Ah, well I suppose the winds of change to a little to excite him. Some are not made for peacetime."

"Valentin - Am I your mission?" she asks abruptly, and before he has a chance to answer she gulps a mouthful of wine, bracing herself.

He smiles. "Are you asking me if the Council has lost its faith in you? The answer to that is "No", but the answer to your question I suppose, is that I  _have_  been tasked with keeping an eye on you."

"And to kill me, if I fail?"

His smile fades. He looks at her for what feels like a rather long time.

"No. I am to check in on you, not specifically interact with you, on a regular basis. That is all."

"And you know which comrades have been identified as the likely-" for a moment she struggles with the terminology. "The likely vessels."

"The cuckoos? I imagine it is the Duke of Limbs** and that great blonde ignoramus," he says, upper lip curling contemptuously.

Iris nods. "What will become of Annie?"

"The sullen girl? Nothing has been done about her as far as I am aware. Is she guilty?"

"... Can I trust you, Valentin?"

"Trust is for noble fools harbouring the sort of romantic notions that will most likely get them killed... But I am, as always, on your side."

Hardly a very reassuring notion, but then she would not have believed him even if had said "Yes".

"Annie Leonhardt is guilty. All three of them are. The fourth one, Ymir, seems to be innocent or at least unrelated to them. I thought the Council would take care of Annie quietly once she reached Mitras."

"I see..." Valentin pulls on the cigar with a thoughtful expression. "Iris, why do you think the Council chose you for this mission? Why do you think they sent you to the south with such vague orders?"

She takes another mouthful of wine, the bitter taste less unpleasant now than it had been an hour ago.

"I do not know."

"Why only you, when at least two attackers slipped past Wall Rose? Why not send reinforcements now that the likely culprits have been identified? Why have I not been instructed to help you?"

"I do not know, it is almost as if- as if..." She gets no further in her thinking. How is she supposed to understand the reasoning of such esteemed leaders?

"Well I suppose it could all come down to the fact that 'dealing' with a titan shifter is not entirely easy," he says wryly, tilting his head to the side.

" _You_  could kill them in their sleep, surely," she replies quietly, frowning.

"Or you and I together. Ask yourself this: What does the Council want?"

She had assumed they wanted the enemy identified and eliminated as soon as possible, but it seems a rather pitiful effort to send one inexperienced girl to do it, if that was indeed their objective. Which competent organisation would send an ignorant child on such an important mission?

Then – What else might the Council want?

"Let me help you," Valentin says. "If the council wanted the vessels eliminated right away they would have made that clear to you, and they would not have sent you alone. But the order to eliminate has been given, which means that at some point they will want them disposed of – What does that tell you?"

It tells her what she should already have known – That she is a pawn in a game beyond her understanding.

She stands, putting her glass on the windowsill before she steps to Valentin, bends over him and plucks the cigar from his fingers without asking. She puts it to her lips and pulls, the smoke tasting like death on her tongue. She coughs, pulls at it again, and coughs some more, pacing back and forth through the room.

"The Council does not want the vessels to complete their mission, but with it taking this long there seems to be something that keeps them from doing so. And thus, the Council is content with having their presence under surveillance?"

Valentin nods approvingly.

"It would appear so. And neither do they want the vessels to send for reinforcements, I wager. In a society such as this, lacking all forms of technology, there is only one way they might do that, as far as I see."

"By returning to where they came from," Iris says, and with a chill she recalls the only wish Reiner Braun has ever expressed: To go home.

"Yes. In other words; the Council has decided it is best if the vessels remain here, alive and floundering for as long as possible, because ultimately what the Council wants is-"

She waits for him to continue, but he does not.

"What it wants is...?"

He holds his hand out, and she returns his cigar.

"Thank you. What the Council wants is  _more time_."

Of course; it is so simple. She cannot believe she has not seen it before, though it has been staring her in the face for so long.

"More time to awaken Grandfather."

"Naturally."

"Are they close?"

"How should I know? No one tells me anything."

"You always knew more than you were supposed to."

"True!" he smirks. "Indeed. Well, I obviously cannot know for sure, but my conclusion is that Grandfather stirs. It will not be long now."

She sinks heavily into her chair.

"I had all the information yet knew nothing of this, while you figured it all out on your own. Clever devil... They should have sent you instead."

"Well, I am rather clever, but clearly 'clever' was not what they wanted for this mission."

"No," she murmurs. "But what did they want? I am nothing - Why on earth did they send me?"

Valentin shrugs.

"Maybe because your precious Papa is Head of Research, or perhaps they just wanted someone who looks pretty in a dress... Not that I would have done such an awful job at that either."

They  _had_ suggested she use her body if that would get the information they wanted. A mistake, as unbelievable as it seems. The Council, despite their revered and enlightened position, failed to consider that her body is a mottled ruin not likely to tempt anyone into doing anything.

" _A mistake?"_ It is an uncomfortable thought. The Council knows all, sees all, decides all. It is not supposed to make mistakes.

Valentin tips his head back and quaffs the last of his wine. "At least we  _know_  they did not pick you for your suitability to deep infiltration. You are ill-tempered, dull-witted and unsociable. A soft-hearted, short-sighted girl with an inferiority complex, more impressed by brawn than by brains, and rather unfortunately, also someone who possesses some basic morals."

The words hit her like a slap to the face.

"But I suppose that at the end of the day you possess something the Council values above all else," he continues.

"Which is what?"

"Loyalty. If a man has none, no money in the world can buy it from him, no threats can instil it, and no temptations rouse it. Let us face it Iris, loyalty is practically your middle-name. You feel the responsibility, do you not? You lie awake at night fighting to breathe under the crushing weight of all those lives resting on you. Poor, pathetic, tortured Iris."

She grits her teeth.

"And I suppose you think you are any better? You are anything, everything, all games and masks and partial truths, which at the end of the day means that  _you_  are  _nothing_. There is no real you. You are nothing but a husk, a handsome carcass."

That wipes the smile from his face. He rises slowly, eyes never leaving hers, his movements ominously subdued as he pushes the cigar into the ashtray until it makes a low hissing sound. She tenses, watching him as he steps to the side of the table where a meat knife lays clearly visible. Without looking at it Valentin picks up the decanter.

"As we say in swordplay – Touché. More wine?"

She really should not.

"A little."

He pours for her and then for himself, putting the decanter down on the windowsill while he remains standing.

"I have a gift for you," he says, to which she gives him a surprised frown. "From the Council," he clarifies with a shrug. "To help you complete your mission once the right time comes. Because it will come – You know that."

He goes to the large trunk by the wall beside the bed and opens it. From it he plucks a small cloth wrapping, and as he folds back the cloth she sees the shape of a very small holstered pistol in his hand.

"Here." He holds it out to her and she looks at it, eyes widening.

"This is-"

"Yes. There are five bullets in the chamber. And Iris - Not even the treaty will protect you if the king finds out you have this."

"What do you think they would do to me?" she asks, morbidly wanting to hear it, because who would not be fascinated with the prospect of having their nails ripped out and their eyes burnt to jelly with hot pokers? It is the kind of thing you hear happened to someone at some point, but you never see it happening to  _you_.

"They would give you to a man named Djel Sannes of His Majesty's personal security squad. He would torture you for information, naturally."

"Naturally," she says, gripping the little pistol firmly. "Valentin, who is king within these walls?"

He shrugs. "Some Fritz." He looks at her speculatively, picking up his glass and sipping from it.

"Yes but which one? What is his name?"

"Aha! So you have figured it out. That drunken disgrace they have perched in the chair is a decoy. I do not know who the true king is, but judging from how smug Chairman Lindberg looked when I asked, I would assume the Council knows."

Iris nods slowly. "And who is Eren Yeager?"

Valentin's smile widens considerably.

"That is precisely what I asked Chairman Lindberg two days past, to which I was reassured that, while it is not for me to know, they have the situation under control. In other words – They do not know exactly. He is an aberration to their carefully laid out plans, a chance for the populace to learn something of their past, a risk. I bet they are all wetting themselves with terror right about now," he smiles, finding the idea inordinately amusing.

"He claims there are secrets hidden within his basement; the truth about the world - Can you imagine? This expedition we are going on is supposedly to establish a route we could use to get to Shiganshina later, but something about it seems off to me."

"Do tell."

"It does not seem like Eren's transformation experiments are going well, because we have had no triumphant news on his glorious progress - And yet they intend to bring him along for the expedition."

"Perhaps his presence, not his capacity to fight is what they require?" Valentin muses, and she realises that is must be so.

Without the possibility of gain Erwin Smith would never risk Eren's safety, and if he cannot fight the only worth he has is...

"Oh pudding, Commander Erwin must have figured it out," she breathes. "He is planning to make Eren into bait for the attackers!"

"Oh pudding?" Valentin says with a lazy smile. "What a potty-mouth you are become."

"How could he be so foolish? What if they were all to attack at once?"

"Well, that depends. So far the attackers' course of action has been decisive but cautious. You tell me - Is that big ninnyhammer*** a gambler?"

"No... He is conscientious, cautious."

"A devil with a conscience? A monster with scruples?" Valentin's mouth twists into a semblance of ugliness. "Capable of some low cunning more like. As a person of encompassing wit, I will say they  _must_  take the bait if Yeager is indeed what they are now after, but they will send the person least likely to be identified as to have something to fall back on."

"I do not believe they know who Yeager is either, but if something keeps them from retrieving the founder he might be enough to appease their superiors, or he might have information they need."

With her free hand she grabs her glass and tips wine into her mouth, her thoughts seeming to come to her easier than they normally do.

"But then... what should I do?" she asks.

"Well... if we are to keep the horse in the barn, so to speak, I believe it would be best to keep Yeager from falling into their hands – Do you not agree? He is the hobble to our horse, seems to me."

He drains his glass again and grimaces, as if realizing that he just might have had enough to drink for one night. He had always been one to ply others with alcohol, but she cannot remember the last time she saw him do more than sip his own drink.

"I should keep Yeager out of their hands, if I can. But what if I cannot?"

"Then I suggest you kill whichever of them you can get to, preferably that self-indulgent swine who considers himself their leader, before you turn that gun on yourself."

She stares at the pocket pistol.

"What if I cannot do it?"

"Not everyone can turn their gun on themselves I suppose. In such a case do not worry, I would not let you fall into the hands of that churl Sannes," he says lightly, as if a promise to kill her is a wonderful gift.

"That is... not what I meant. You do not understand Valentin, they are not devils. They are like us; soldiers doing their duty, thinking there is a bigger purpose to it, when the only purpose there ever was is men's vanity and greed." She looks up, hoping to glean something like a hint of sympathy in Valentin's eyes, but is instead greeted with a decidedly flat, expressionless look.

"What if they could be reasoned with?" she adds.

"Certainly, and if you are wrong and they cannot be reasoned with you will have given away our only advantage as of now. We trusted them once, the race of heroes, remember? But 'heroes' are just another name for monsters. We cannot take the risk and you know it," he says coolly.

"If no one takes the risk there will only be more war, and once the first war is ended there will be another one to settle the score for the last one, and then another one after that. It will never end."

"That is what our forefathers thought, that we could make peace with the devils and set to building something instead, and you know what happened to them. For pity's sake Iris, what you are saying is not just cowardly, it borders on treason!"

She looks at the pistol in her hand, realizing that it is shaking now. She wants to say they are not their forefathers, and that the times and the people in it are different now from what they were, but she is not sure she believes it herself. It would most likely not be enough to change Valentin's mind anyway.

"But what if I cannot do it? They are good people, please-"

He slaps her so hard she is almost thrown out of her chair. She feels it lurch sideways, falling over as if in slow-motion to spill her onto the floorboards. The left side of her face burns, white daggers of pain driving into her skull and making her vision explode in a vivid display of colours. The holster and pistol within dig painfully into her hip as she falls onto her own arm and twisting it beneath her. She sprawls gasping on the floor, trying to figure out what had just happened as she simultaneously tries to pull her arm out from underneath her. She hears Valentin take a step towards her as her mouth fills with the coppery taste of her own blood.

"Get out," he says, and his voice is low and deadly soft. "Get out, and go do your duty."

She manages to turn herself around, tangling in her skirts until her legs are all locked together. She pushes herself up on her elbows and sees Valentin's face staring down from above, expressionless, looking at her the way you might look at a piece of wood or a rock.

"If you ever come to me pleading for that human garbage again I swear I will beat you until your face turns to soup."

He takes another step towards her and she scrambles back, fighting to get her feet underneath her. Her split lip throbs, blood filling her mouth even though she swallows it down again and again. Valentin's icy blue eyes bore into her as he draws closer step by slow step. Is that something gleaming in his hand? Her heart thunders in her ears, feet sliding on the floor fighting for purchase, struggling to loosen the death grip her skirts seem to have on her knees. One of her heels hook onto the edge of a raised floorboard, and pushing hard against it she heaves herself up until her buttocks leave the floor for a moment, releasing her trapped skirts. She crawls a little further away from him, grabbing onto the table as she hauls herself onto her feet. Halfway up she pulls the knife from its sheath, the pistol still held stupidly holstered in her other hand.

Valentin halts and looks at the knife, his mouth twisting and eyes narrowing contemptuously. He laughs.

"Oh, this is all just too funny, so funny it makes me sick. Do get out now," he says mildly, hiding his right hand behind his back as if to keep her from seeing something.

She retreats another cautious step, not wanting to turn her back on him. She can feel the skin pull tight over the swelling in her cheek, the painful throbbing sending daggers into her jaw and teeth. Are they all still there, or did he knock a couple of them loose?

"Get out!" he shouts, making her jump back startled. His lips peel back from his teeth and like some wild beast her lurches forward, grabbing for her.

She turns around and runs, throwing the door open with a loud crash, knife still clutched in her hand. She runs through the corridor, hearing people laughing behind closed doors as if they have not heard the banging and the shout echoing through the house, or as if they heard but found that they just did not care enough to investigate. She reaches the landing and runs down the stairs, making a raucous noise as the soles of her shoes slap against the wooden boards. She hears a surprised cry as she gallops through the lobby and then the cool night air washes over her like a tidal wave.

All she recalls from her ride back is the wind against her face, the taste of blood in her mouth and the tip of her tongue prodding against the insides of her teeth as she kept thinking:  _"Still there... still there."_

Once back at the castle she realises that she has stuffed the little pistol down the front of her dress, where it now chafes her skin. Perhaps she should cry, as it might be considered a normal reaction under the present circumstances, but she finds that she is just too tired to do it. Too tired, somewhat drunk, and beginning to feel just a little bit sick. Her split lip keeps bleeding into her mouth, and she keeps swallowing it down.

She is headed for the dormitory where she hopes to wash up before anyone sees her, when she passes by the open door to one of the salons and sees Bertholdt and Armin playing chess at a table within. A crease of concentration has formed between Bert's knitted brows as he leans slightly forward in his seat, contemplating his next move. Iris sees his hand go towards one of his knight before it hesitates and drops back as he reconsiders.

She turns around, walking back the way she had come, towards the corridors on the other side of the main staircase. There are paintings of landscapes hanging on the walls, lit sconces casting their flickering light towards them as she passes by. The floors creek softly beneath her feet. She turns a corner and goes deeper into the castle building.

Reiner is in his usual spot by the window at the end of the corridor. Perhaps he does not come here only to sort through the sort of feelings better left untouched during the day; it seems an ideal spot to plot out your future course of action too, somewhere you might think without having to worry whether your thoughts show on your face. She halts a few meters away from him, lurking in the shadows in case he were to turn around.

"Good evening" she says steadily, taking care not to slur her words.

"Hey," he replies flatly, staring out the window.

"I wish to... I mean there is-" She swallows another mouthful of blood, fumbling for the right words to put things right between them.

"Have a good time with that friend of yours? Must be nice to finally have some decent company, more on your level."

She sees the barest reflection of his face in the window before him, the firmly set jaw, his mouth relaxed, eyes set in shadow.

"What I said to you the day before yesterday," she says, thinking that frankness might serve her now. "I wish for you to know that I expressed myself in a rather clumsy way. It grieves me to have wounded your pride, or to have made you feel that I made base judgements of your character."

He says nothing.

"I want you to know that this is not the case. I... have a rather high opinion of your character, as it happens, and only now do I realise that I have never told you as much. What I wish I would have said to you is that on that night Ymir told me to consider what I wanted, and all I could think of was that I wanted was to go find you. There was nothing else to it."

His head turns a little, and she realises that he must be looking at her reflection in the glass. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but before he has a chance to she begins to back away, not wanting him to see her like this.

"I must go," she says, her foot stepping on the hem of her skirt a little. She rights herself and turns her back to him. "Good night," she says over her shoulder, wondering if she is imagining the slight slurring of her words.

"Iris? Wait, can I get a moment to-" he says behind her.

"Tomorrow," she says over her shoulder, not stopping. "Please, I am very tired."

"Alright," she hears him say just as the turns the corner, leaving the close-to abandoned corridor behind.

Once back at the dormitory she slips through the door and finds that it is almost empty, one person sitting at the edge of their cot in the back. Iris turns her face down, knowing it is already too late. She hears a gasp, and then the padding of naked feet against the floorboards as the person hurries up to her.

"Oh no... What happened to you?" Krista says despairingly, touching her arm lightly as if trying not to startle a frightened horse.

"It is nothing," she mumbles and looks up from the floor and into Krista's eyes.

"It's not nothing, come here."

Krista takes her by the arm and leads her into the room, motioning for Iris to sit on the edge of her own cot, and then she goes into the adjoining washroom, returning with a towel and a small bucket of water. Iris stares at her hands where the lie neatly folded on her lap. She hears water splashing and then she feels the cool cloth against her lip, dabbing very gently.

"That Valentin, he hit you?"

Absurdly, Iris considers telling Krista that she fell on the stairs. Seems strange that it would be difficult to admit that someone she thought would never lay a hand on her had done just that, but it is difficult to admit it, even to herself. She has seen him do it to others. It should really not have come as a surprise, but it had. Seems stupid now, so very stupid.

"We argued."

"Did he do anything else?"

Iris blinks, her swelling cheek pushing against her lower eyelid.

"Gods, no," she blurts out.

"Okay. But if he did you can tell me." Krista pats her knee gently with one hand.

"He did not. I am alright... a little drunk I might say, but alright."

Krista smiles a little.

"You don't need to reassure me, I'm not some precious princess. Does your cheek or jaw hurt badly?"

Iris shakes her head a little bit.

"No, it was only a slap. Nothing is broken."

"A very hard slap," Krista replies tightly. "I'll go wash this out, you change meanwhile."

Iris stuffs the little pistol underneath her mattress before she changes into her sleeping clothes. She sits on her cot with her back against the wall when Krista returns. The pretty little blonde girl crawls onto the bed and takes a seat on her left.

"Ymir told me not to go, but I needed something from him." Iris says quietly. "... She was right about him."

To her surprise, Krista takes her hand and holds it gently.

"Ymir said that because she cares about you, but since she doesn't want to say it outright she ends up saying stupid, hurtful things instead sometimes. It's just part of who she is. She wouldn't ever blame you for going - You thought you could trust him."

"Gods, I did." It suddenly feels as though she has lost something.

"Do you want a hug?"

The question seems rather absurd at first, but the more she thinks on it the nicer it sounds.

"Yes... I think I would like that very much."

Krista lets go of her hand, sliding an arm around her back, and rather awkwardly, Iris shuffles sideways until she can rest her head on Krista's shoulder. She puts her arms around Krista's small, lithe body and realises that she herself is shaking - Why, she does not know.

"It's okay," Krista says soothingly. "You're safe now. It will all be okay."

* * *

*German: "White devil"  
**Duke of Limbs: "A tall, awkward, ill-made fellow" – Grose 1811  
***Ninnyhammer: "A simpleton" – Grose 1811

* * *

_Well, there goes my rather important but for fan-fiction unconventional chapter. If you made it through – I'm glad to still have you with me._

_I realise that this is not your typical easily approachable, accessible oc-centric story, but then if that is what you wanted then perhaps you would not be reading this story. Neither is my character the embodiment of that girl most of us would want to imagine ourselves being, that girl so like us but better, bolder, wittier, prettier. I don't know about you, but I am certainly happy that I am not Iris pretty much all the time, lol._


	17. Chapter 17

"What the shit?" Jean Kirschtein gawps at her in open-mouthed bewilderment.

"Really? I thought you had to unclench to do something like that," Ymir says lightly, draping her arm around Iris' shoulder. "I wouldn't tell anyone if I were you though."

"Wh?" Kirschtein grunts, and seems to be working his way towards a stinging rebuke when Braun draws up next to them; his eyes directed at Kirschtein's now blossoming red cheeks.

"What's going on here?" he says in the tone of a father addressing his bunch of rowdy children.

"Kirschtein just creamed his britches," Ymir replies brightly, to which Kirschtein makes a choking sound like a toad being sat on.

But I didn't-" he protests, voice high-pitched and cracking.

"Really, Jean?" Braun says with deathly seriousness. "I thought a guy like you would know how to keep it in."

"It's just an expression, there is no shit!" Kirschtein's hand stabs the air as if he wished it was a sword aimed at Ymir's smirking face.

"Hey what are you guys shouting about? Did someone have an accident?" Marco asks as walks towards them at the head of a group of new recruits arriving for this morning's exercises.

Kirschtein throws a paranoid look around him like a man scouting for titans, though no doubt he is checking whether or not Mikasa has arrived yet, before stabbing his finger at Ymir.

"You'll pay for this..."

Smiling, Braun looks between Jean and Ymir, obviously concluding that neither of them seems to be of a mind to declare all-out war on each other. The smile dies on his lips as he turns sideways to look at Iris. He frowns as though he cannot quite believe what he is seeing, brows drawing together.

"...What?" he says weakly, as he takes in the blue and purple swelling of her cheek, her upper lip puffed and angry red on the side it split. For a moment his face twists into an expression of painful confusion, before his mouth draws down and his eyes narrow.

Ymir pulls Iris a little closer.

"Oi, what do you think you're looking at chucklehead?" she says threateningly.

"What do you think I'm looking at?" He looks at Iris and ignores Ymir, which is a feat in itself since they are somewhat tightly wrapped together. "Are you alright? What happened to you?"

She is almost impressed that he managed to ask two uncomfortable questions in one breath, and without even trying. To her mind the temporary disfigurement of her face is a rather minor inconvenience. What is all the more troubling is that the world around her seems to have grown exponentially in the last day or so, and she finds herself made smaller in comparison.

"It is only a bruise," she says, giving Ymir an exasperated look before wriggling free of her protective grip.

"Don't lower yourself to making excuses for that prick. I say that if he ever shows his face here again, we find a nice high tower to push him from."

"Ymir - Stay away from Valentin," Iris says, more sharply than she had intended. Even Ymir looks surprised. "Please, stay away," she adds in a gentler tone.

"He did this?" Braun asks quietly and crosses his arms over his chest.

Iris shrugs and says nothing, because what is there to say really?

Braun seems to disagree, and looks like he wants to say a few well chosen words on the matter. Senior Team Member Gelgar interrupts any such efforts on his part by making an appearance, however. His rumpled uniform looks rather like he might have slept in it, his stubbly cheeks in dire need of a shave, and he greets them with a bare minimum of enthusiasm, as though overseeing such unimportant standard training requires just a little more effort than he is willing to put in.

"Miserable morning, recruits. I'm going to pair you up and have you fight one another, and I want to see you incorporate at least one of the moves we ran through last week. Ackermann, you are exempt from this training. That might not seem right to the rest of you, but if you feel like bitching about it I suggest you ask yourselves how extra chores sound before you do, because that's all you'll get out of it. Kirschtein, Braun, you're up first."

It seems that no one is in the mood for extra chores today. The sun breaks through the clouds as they watch their comrades face off against one another. Their overseer quaffs water at the rate of a thirsty horse and looks rather disinterested and worse for wear, while Nanaba at his side is the picture of professionalism, dutifully scribbling notes onto a board.

"Wolfbrandt, Bachmann," Gelgar drones mechanically.

Iris sees Cressida smile sweetly as she steps into the fighter's ring their comrades have formed by standing in a wide circle. Gelgar on the other hand frowns deeply as he visually inspects Iris' bruised face.

"Are you sure you're fit to participate?"

"Yes sir, I am quite alright."

"I'll hold you to that – Nanaba, note it down. You two, take your places."

She faces Cressida, who peers at her curiously. Could it be true that she and her brother had a falling out? There was a point in time Iris would have sworn they were practically the same person, and the thought of one without the other seems strange to her. Despite being a couple of years older than her, the twins had cried the day Overseer Vidal sent them to reside in separate dormitories. As close as two separate people can get, twins or not, it is not fitting for sister and brother to share a cot past infancy – Or so their overseers' claimed. It did not take Valentin long to find a way into the girls' dormitory in the dark hours, but the few nights that preceded his appearance Cressida wept endlessly. It is the only time through all these years Iris has seen Cressida shed tears.

What could possibly separate two people who love each other so fiercely?

She looks at Cressida, but the girl's face gives no clue as to what it might be.

"That must have hurt. What happened to you?" Cressida asks, blue eyes troubled.

Iris shrugs.

"I ran into your brother. He came by the castle yesterday, did you know?"

Cress' brows furrow ever so slightly, but then she smiles warmly. "Did he now? He is so busy nowadays with his new appointment I swear he has no time for his family anymore. A happy reunion between you two, I take it?"

Perhaps it is Iris' imagination, but she thought those last words had a bite to them.

"Oh, very. Shall we?" she says and nods to the ground between them.

"I suppose," Cressida grins and raises her fists in a defensive position.

Iris raises her fists, and they begin to circle each other slowly, keeping their feet in motion as they take each other's measure. It has been years since they last fought one another, but very little in the way Cressida moves seems to have changed. She had always been quick. Just as Iris begins to wonder how long they are going to do this dance Cressida surges forward, her right fist whipping, out aiming low. Iris deflects the blow and throws up her knee, but Cress slides away, twists around and tries to kick Iris at the back of the knees. Iris stops her and they grapple with one another, close to equal in strength and skill. Iris dodges a kick from Cress and lands a punch at her ribs, but instead of folding over Cressida bulls into her, almost knocking the breath from her. She feels Cressida's hand groping for a hold on something and whips her hair away, shoving her backwards to put some space between them. Iris hears a loud ripping sound as her shirt tears and she staggers sideways as Cress lets her go.

Iris feels the breeze against her skin, and looking down she sees that her shirt has torn open, exposing her lower abdomen and most of the twisted, mottled skin on the right side of her torso.

"Whoopsie." Cressida tilts her head to the side. "So sorry, clumsy me. No harm done though, right?"

Iris imagines herself charging Cressida and knocking her to the ground before taking a seat on her chest, punching her over and over again until her face is nothing but a red, bubbling ruin. Instead she feels her legs fold under her. She crouches on the ground and wraps her arms around herself, hiding her face. Her comrades murmur to one another as they stand there, looking at the burned girl with what she imagines to be fascinated revulsion.

Someone crouches next to her, and as it is the only thing she can think to do, she curls inwards even further.

"Don't worry, it's just me," Ymir says somewhere close.

"Here, take my jacket," a male voice says, and a moment later Ymir puts a very large jacket over her shoulders, wrapping it around her before pulling her to her feet.¨

"Come on, let's get you back to the castle," Ymir says, putting one arm around her waist and the other on her arm, steering her in what is supposedly the right direction. "Go away, she doesn't need your help right now!" she barks at someone, though Iris does not see who it might be.

She sees the ground pass by beneath her feet, dry and cracked. They turn onto a stone path, and soon they are climbing the steps to the castle. She clings mutely to Ymir all the way back to the dormitory, thoughts going in circles, returning again and again to the sound of fabric ripping, and to the smile on Cressida's face as she released her hold. That wide, beautiful smile.

Ymir leads her into their empty dormitory, and closes the door behind them. Iris sits on the edge of her bunk.

"It looked like she did it on purpose," Ymir says, and comes to stand before her. "That sweet act is pretty convincing though."

Iris nods slowly.

"You think her and that asshat of a brother are working together to make your life miserable?"

"I do not know," Iris murmurs, replaying their short conversation before the fight. "But I must say I doubt it. Cressida looked angry when I told her Valentin had visited the castle. It seems more likely that she would like to reconcile their differences, while he does not. I only got in the way."

"Honestly, I don't give a shit, and neither should you. Maybe they were your friends once, but they're not anymore. Some people start out decent, and then life drains the decency from them until there is nothing left but the ugly. You should get out of their way before they drag you down with them."

Iris shrugs the large jacket from her shoulders and places it on her lap instead.

"Whose is this?" she asks and holds it up before her.

"I think you know." Ymir says.

She lets the jacket drop back onto her lap.

"Get a nurse to put you on sick leave for the day. I heard you toss and turn all night, so don't pretend you're not tired. Numbskull can do without his jacket for one day," Ymir says, and appears to be getting ready to leave.

"Would you return it to him for me?"

"Do it yourself." She smiles crookedly and leaves the room.

Iris changes into a fresh linen shirt, tossing the ripped one onto the floor at the foot of her bed. Whoever is on laundry duty at the end of the week will take it down to the washhouse. The jacket lies atop her blankets like an accusation. It does not seem to care that returning it will require a kind of courage she is not sure she possesses. She ignores it for now, leaving the dormitory and heading for the medical wing where there will be a nurse on duty.

Once found the nurse takes one look at her face, and upon hearing that Iris suffers from a mild headache and feels somewhat fatigued, she approves her sick leave and ushers her to a bed in the surgery where she is forced to rest for several hours. Much to her surprise, Iris falls asleep within minutes and does not wake until the nurse touches her shoulder and informs her that it is past dinner-time. She is served a portion of bread and broth with rehydrated strips of meat inside the surgery, and told not to partake in anything too straining tomorrow, or the day after. Then she is free to go.

On her way back to the dormitory Iris ponders whether the Garrison's and the Military Police's surgeries are as unpopulated as that of the Survey Corps. It seems unlikely. As someone who never intended to join the Corps she had never really considered it before, but now that she is here to see the empty surgery and the abandoned sick ward, she realises that it makes perfect sense.

Reiner's jacket rather absurdly feels as though it weighs about as much as that whale of a merchant Valentin had been safeguarding when he came to the castle. She finds she needs to clutch it tightly to her chest to keep it from sliding from her grasp as she walks through the halls. The junior staff's dormitories are located on opposite sides of the second floor as to not encourage wanton behaviour, or so she assumes. Whether such efforts are successful or not, she really could not say. Bastards are always an inconvenience to their mothers, but even more so to the already poor and destitute. A pregnant soldier might fall on hard times if she has no husband or parents to support her.

She hesitates by the door at the end of the hallway. The floorboards creek and groan as she shifts her weight from one foot to another, breathing in the smell of damp and listening to the murmur of voices on the other side of the door.

" _He might not even be here."_

She knocks, and hears the muffled sound of her tapping resounding on the other side. It seems to her as though the voices closest to her cease their chattering, and moments later she hears a soft thud as though someone has dropped from some height and landed on the floor. There is a sound of approaching footsteps, and a soft scraping as someone turns the door handle.

Armin pokes his head out the door.

"Oh, hi." His big blue eyes wander across her face. "How are you?"

Iris is aware that something about her had always made him feel mildly uncomfortable, and their shared experience over the years seems to have done little to change that. Always the keen observer, he probably realises that her presence here is of a somewhat suspect nature. If he had any doubts about such theories before, today's incident should have put those to rest. Her body tells a tale of a hard earned life, strangely incongruous with the soft upbringing of a highborn girl.

"Much better, thank you for asking. I came to return this," she holds the jacket out like an offering. "Would you give it to him for me, please?"

"Sure, but are you sure you wouldn't like to-"

"Thank you," she says and retreats backwards.

Iris turns around and hears the door closing behind her. When walking the other way she had not noticed how far the hallway stretches, and now that she wishes to leave she wonders just how fast she can walk before her tactical retreat is to be considered a humiliating capitulation. She bites her lip, bitterly regretting the events of the day.

The place where the halls intersect is only a few meters away when she hears the door behind her open again, followed by the unmistakeable sound of someone on the heavier side of things stepping out onto the floor.

"Iris," someone says behind her in a deep, sonorous baritone.

Without the aid of any conscious thought on her part, her feet keep moving.

"Hey Iris, wait up." She hears his heavy footsteps as he jogs after her, and knowing there is no way to escape with her dignity intact, Iris comes to a halt. She is almost relieved to get it over with.

"Reiner," she says, looking at the tapestry hung on the intersecting wall before her.

In old common tongue his name would mean something like 'counselling warrior'. She wonders if that holds any meaning to him. There had been a strange light in his eyes the time he declared first her, and then himself to be 'a warrior'. The theory fails to explain why the term seems to hold some meaning to Bertholdt as well, however. Could it be that the enemy across the sea calls them by that name? But if so – Why would Reiner have said such a thing to her? The more she thinks on it, the less she seems to understand.

He catches up to her.

"Ymir came back and said you were out sick. Feeling better?"

Iris closes her eyes and opens her mouth to say that yes, she is feeling much better indeed... But lying had never suited her, and the words will not come.

Why does he want to know? If this is where they are to engage in a stilted conversation brought on by a sense of obligation, she would rather not have it. She should never have developed an attachment to him. To allow such as he to become someone whose opinion matters to her had been a grievous mistake on her part; but what is done is done. And now that he has seen the mottled horror that fire and Mr. Sychkin has made of her, she must face his inevitable rejection.

"I see," he says when she makes no reply. "She did it on purpose, didn't she? I mean it looked like an accident, but I don't think it was."

Iris turns to face him, wondering why Cressida's reasons would matter to him.

"It was no accident," she says to his chin, where the first wisps of hair have begun to show.

"Figures. She seems all nice and sweet, but sometimes I get the feeling there's something wrong with her."

"Not such a bad judge of character after all," she murmurs. At least not in this particular case.

She looks at the floorboards, not knowing what to say now.

"You were going to sneak off without talking to me, weren't you?" he says calmly. "Why?

"Because I... Well, I suppose that I feel ashamed. I had not wanted you to see me that way."

There is a pause in which his feet shift back and forth on the floor while she waits for the awkward pleasantries to commence. She hears him clear his throat and rub his hand against the back of his neck. When he finally speaks he sounds strangely hesitant.

"Oh, that. I eh... kind of already knew about that."

Her head snaps up, and she sees that he has assumed a look of mild embarrassment.

"You... knew?" she says.

"Kind of, yeah." He shuffles his feet some more, mild embarrassment transforming into more acute, pressing embarrassment. "A week ago, on the fourth floor. I saw a little of it when she... pushed your shirt up."

He seems to misunderstand her look of mingled confusion and careful contemplation, and hurries on to say: "I wasn't spying on you or anything like that. I was just up there exploring when I heard voices, and when I saw you I just froze. Surprised, you know. Nothing creepy. "

She thinks the words 'nothing creepy' might not actually be helping his case right now. And is it not a little ironic that an infiltrator from a hostile nation would claim not to be spying on people?

She frowns.

"But... you knew this whole time?"

How could he have? She does not understand how anyone could know of that mass of mottled skin and scar tissue and not find it abhorrent. She sometimes finds herself staring at her mirror image, thinking that it looks as though someone has taken pieces of someone else and used them to put her back together; the patchwork girl, some half-mad surgeon's curiosity, an aberration.

"Yeah." He shrugs. "What about it?"

She opens her mouth to argue, though she has no idea what to say. She is not sure he is saying what she thinks he might be saying, but it seems absurd to ask whether he is saying what she thinks he is saying. Why are they even talking about this? How does she find herself in this situation?

She looks at him, trying to understand.

"They are ugly," she says.

Braun shrugs.

"Maybe, but you're not." He smiles, and before she knows it she feels herself smile back at him. Or, at least the right side of her face smiles, while it is more difficult to know what the bruised and swollen left side is up to.

They stand there looking dumbly at each other as if neither of them can quite figure out what comes next.

"Come, let's go catch the last sun up on the battlements," Braun finally says.

Iris, who had been grappling for something insightful to say, nods gratefully.

"That sounds nice." Not very insightful, but true enough.

He leads the way through the long, winding halls and up several flights of stairs, until they open a heavy wooden door and finds themselves showered in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. The air still carries a scent of broth and warm bread. Braun leans against the warm wall on the right side of the door, sliding down until he sits with his back against it. He puts a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. Iris sits down next to him.

"You'd just come back to the castle when you came to talk to me last night, right?" Braun says, leaning his head back against the wall.

"Yes."

"I thought you sounded upset, and now I guess I know why. Bit of a shock to come down this morning and finding you looking like you've been in a fistfight. But then, if I'd not been so far up my own ass yesterday then I'd have known already."

She shrugs, not wanting to discuss the conversation the preceded the act of violence, or the act of violence either for that matter.

"We drank a little too much and ended up arguing. It was only a slap, and I did not want it to take precedence over what I had to say to you."

To be more precise, she had drunk way too much and he had acted in a way that is very uncharacteristic of him. She is not sure she has ever seen Valentin angry before.

"The hell it was 'only a slap'," Braun says darkly.

Iris fights against the stupid urge to defend him.

"I thought he would not do such a thing as raise a hand to me in anger, but I was wrong."

They are both silent for some time. The sun heats her face and hands, and the stones of the castle wall feel warm against her back.

"Who is he to you?" Braun asks in a calm, level voice. He turns his head and looks at her.

She considers her reply.

"It is a little complicated to explain, but our families are close. We grew up together; Cressida, Marcus, Valentin and I. We were friends, all of us."

"But you were never... betrothed or anything like that? Royalty do that kind of thing, don't they?"

If her and Valentin had not both joined the Academy they might very well have been. Out of the handful royal families that survived the downfall, the Bachmanns and the Wolfbrandts are among the oldest. Their marriage would have made for a powerful alliance.

"No. There were reasons to why such a match could not be made."

Technically, such a match could very well be made, but as they are both agents and therefore sterile, there is little point in making it. Briefly, she wonders how far the surgical capabilities of Braun's people have reached outside the walls.

Braun shifts his seat a little.

"So you two were never...?"

"No," she says firmly.

Braun reaches out and takes her hand. His grip is firm and solid, and everything about it feels right and wrong at the same time.

"It hurt to hear you say those things about me, because you always tell me the truth." he says and sighs.

Iris feels ashamed. She wants to take back her words, or apologise, but Reiner seems to have more he wants to say.

"I didn't really have any friends back when I was a kid, but then we came here and swore that this time I'd be someone else, someone better. So, I made everyone like me and started talking about morale and working together like I was some good guy, like I cared about them when really I was just a heartless bastard."

He smiles a little.

"You used to look at me all judgingly. It sounds weird, but it felt good in a way."

She leans towards him, putting her good cheek against his shoulder.

"Sometimes you say the strangest things," she mutters.

"Sorry, I've been in a strange mood lately." He touches her bruised cheek with his fingertips. "Does it hurt?"

"Not really."

His cheek would have healed instantly. She would like to ask him if he feels pain as keenly now as he did before he became a titan vessel. More so, she would like to ask him why he became one. Did he even have a choice in it? Is it everything he thought it would be?

"I practiced by the way," he says, surprising her.

"Pardon?"

He chuckles. "Dancing, I mean. I practiced the steps."

"Oh did you?" She lifts her head. "Show me."

She puts her hand against the wall and pushes herself up. The sun rests lazily against the curve of the horizon, colouring the sky in shades of bright orange. Braun rises smoothly.

"Are you sure you shouldn't take it easy?"

"I am alright, come now."

They take their positions, and Braun places his feet the right way without having to be told to. She imagines the music as she counts them in, and they the start moving. He is more confident this time, leading her through the steps with ease. She squints as he turns her to the sun, the light so bright it hurts her eyes. They turn again and she sees Braun's face lit from the side, his eyes glowing in hues of gold and amber. His brows are pushed together. She thinks that he looks a little sad, but it is sometimes difficult to tell.

They stop.

"Much better," she says, finding it to be an understatement. It is almost remarkable how much he improved over the course of a few days.

"I wanted us to be able to do this properly before the expedition," he says quietly.

The expedition, of course. There is only a few days left now. So much can go wrong, very little could possibly go right, and no matter how it ends people will die.

She lets go of his hand and puts her arms around him, pulling him closer. He holds her gently, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head. She feels his breath against her hair.

"Iris," he says even quieter than before. "In case something happens during the expedition and I don't make it back... I want you to know that you're the best thing that ever happened to me."

She rests he head against his chest, thinking that he might just be the worst thing to ever happen to her. It hardly seems fair that he would make her question everything she thought she knew and cause her so much pain, and then just... disappear.

Her grip on him hardens.

"And you to me," she says.

She listens to his breathing, feeling his heart beat against her cheek. He straightens his posture.

"Don't worry too much though - We'll only be in charge of the spare horses. I think there's a good chance we'll both make it back."

He sounds...  _cheerful_? She frowns.

Reiner leans back a little, looking down at her with an entirely different expression than the one he had worn only moments ago.

"When we do, return I mean, I was thinking that I'd like to do this the right way... I mean, I don't even know if that's possible since you're royalty and I'm... well you know, but I thought that since we're both Survey Corps it might be alright," he says enthusiastically.

She realises that Reiner has gone to that place inside him in which he is just a soldier.

"Perhaps," she says, wishing she could go there too. "Since we are both soldiers, and you one of the top graduates of the southern branch. I think it might be possible."

His answering smile is resplendent.

* * *

She lies awake that night, listening to the calm, steady breaths from the other girls. Pale moonlight paints the twisted shapes of trees across the wall to her right. She watches the branches swaying back and forth as if in communication with one another. Swaddled in her blanket and sinking deep into her uncomfortably soft wool mattress, Iris feels as though she is drowning. Late evening turns to night while she waits for the feeling to subside, but it does not. Instead she rises, lights a candle, and rummages through the top drawer of the bureau beside her bed until she finds paper, quill and ink.

Seated at the desk beside the entrance, she dips her quill in the inkwell and then sits there staring as the light from the candle flickers across the paper's smooth surface. An hour ago she could not stop thinking about it, but now that she is here, quill in hand, she struggles to put the words together. She swallows hard and ink splatters onto the paper's surface, staining it with black splotches.

Iris draws a deep, trembling breath, and begins to write.

_Reiner,_

_I imagine that you will have left Paradis Island by the time you read this letter. I doubt it is necessary for me to tell you this – But I am not exactly who you thought I was._

_I wish to communicate with you. If you are willing to listen to me, I beg you find a radiotelegraph, or by any name you know it - a device capable of wireless telegraphy. Transmit the encrypted message detailed below, at the frequency detailed below, as often as you can until we have established contact. It might be some time before I am able to respond. The encryption key is on the back of this paper.  
I understand that you might give this information to your superiors. While I hope you do not, I want you to know that if you do, I forgive you._

_/Iris_

She folds the letter carefully and places it inside a silver cigarette case. When returning to her bed she stuffs the case into her mattress before lying down and pulling her blanket up to her chin. There is no harm in having such a letter, she tells herself. It is not as though she intends to give it to him, but it feels good to have written it, because it allows her to imagine a world in which they are something other than enemies.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned for this chapter to be out last week already, but I fell kind of ill before my trip, and illness always completely annhiliates my creativity and I coudn't write at all. I'm feeling a little better now, but my brain still feels a bit like scrambled eggs, and not the light fluffy kind but the sad, rubbery kind. 
> 
> We're almost at a point in the story where I get to write a chapter I've been looking forward to for a long time, so yay for that. 


	18. Bird Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am happy to say that I am feeling much better this week, and my brain's mostly back in working order. Upped my schedule and started working seven days a week now, but I'll try to get the updates out in a timely fashion anyway.

**18: Bird Hunt**

* * *

 

She rides in the middle of the formation down the beaten path. The saddle rocks her gently back and forth, the extra horse walking obediently alongside her own mount. Commander Erwin's strong voice can be heard above the din, calling out their impending arrival at the gates of Karanes, as if the sight of buildings against the backdrop of Wall Rose could possibly have been mistaken for something else. Erwin Smith, Hange Zoë and Mike Zacharias ride at the head of the procession, followed by Squad Levi with Yeager in tow. Iris and the rest of the new recruits are currently placed close to the middle of the formation. Once they exit the gate and ride clear of the ruins just outside Karanes, the column will spread and the full formation will take shape, with each rider aligning themselves in their predestined place.

They enter through the gate and ride through the city at a leisurely walk. It is imperative to preserve their horses' strength for the test of endurance that awaits them outside Karanes easternmost gate. Having a fresh horse over a blown one will often be the deciding factor in whether or not a soldier is able to return, which is why they bring extras along for the expedition.

The local populace crowds the main street and the adjoining alleys, watching as the procession rides past with a mix of pride, exasperation, fear and even scorn. Iris sees one man spit at the feet of their horses, but while he is the only one to go so far, he is not alone in his open-faced hostility. More than a few feel the Survey Corps are a waste of the crown's coin, and some would even go so far as to call it a waste of human lives, though all would not agree of course. Iris, never having cared enough to consider it before, feels that now that she is here, it really does seem like a terrible waste of humanity. Karl Fritz, or his son Erich Fritz must have agreed to form the regiment as another form of population control. She thinks that perhaps it is also meant to serve as a warning –  _This is what happens to those who journey outside_. It is a rather effective way to dispel any rosy fantasies about gloriously seeking mankind's salvation outside the walls.

Two rows in front of her, Iris sees Cressida Wolfbrandt rise in her stirrups. Cress' head turns back and forth if she is looking for someone in the crowd. She sinks back into her saddle, and her posture does little to reveal whether or not her search had been successful.

The person whom Cressida had most likely been looking for, leans against the rail of a balcony on the second floor. His luscious auburn hair is tied back, but a single lock has managed to escape its captivity and is now curling against his cheek in a rather picturesque way. His mocking smile silently berates the soldiers as they ride past, and his cool, blue eyes visibly glance over Cressida as if she were a stranger he has never seen before. His gaze falls on Iris, and his smile grows to an uncomfortable width, exposing his entire row of white front teeth.  _"Remember,"_ it seems to say.  _"We are always watching."_

Quite against her own will, Iris feels her eyes go to the row in front where Reiner rides. His head is turned towards the balcony, and from his side profile she sees a hint of the very grim expression now turned Valentin's way. Wolfbrandt however gives him only the most cursory glance, as if glaring commoners are of absolutely no consequence to him. He looks at Iris, raising an eyebrow. She holds his gaze and makes an absent-minded gesture with her hand, touching her left breast pocket and feeling the shapes of grip and barrel within. Valentin touches his right hand to his brow and his left palm to his chest, his expression cavalier and mocking. It is a salute the world has not seen in over two millennia but Valentin does it casually, almost carelessly, as if it is just some silly formality which is really quite beneath him. Her grip on the rein hardens.

"Thirty seconds," someone shouts up ahead, and a deep, booming rumbling drowns out the noises of the surrounding crowds. Chains are pulled taught, and the machinery within the gateway groans deafeningly as the cogwheels begin to turn. Slowly, slowly, the gate begins to rise.

Reiner turns in his saddle and gives her a smile which promises that everything will be alright. It looks genuine. He will ride two columns ahead of her on the right flank, behind Armin and in front of Jean. Bertholdt has been placed on the left flank, but Iris doubts his position will have any impact on the titan-vessels plans for the day. What matters is Eren's position in the formation, which she has been told will be towards the front on the right flank. They will strike there.

One of the soldiers at the precipice leans over the edge of the wall. "The way is clear!"

Commander Erwin Smith rises in his stirrups, thrusting his hand towards the open gate.

"Survey Corps, advance!"

They thunder forward at a gallop, blazing a trail through the town outside at a high, eye-watering pace. Capes flap madly in the wind, and the sound of hooves against the path is loud as thunder. Up ahead the buildings seem to tremble, and as Iris turns her wide eyes to her left she sees a titan advancing though one of the adjoining alleys. It sprints forward with an expression of agonized determination, like a baby trying to fit the hexagonal block of wood through the oval hole on its puzzle box.

"Ten meter titan approaching from the left," someone bellows, and a moment later Iris sees the support team catapulted out of their saddles, their gears hissing as they speed towards their target.

"Eyes ahead! Trust the support team, keep going!" Dita Ness instructs Sasha who rides just ahead of him.

Iris' horse puts its head up, and though she cannot hear it doing so, she assumes that it is snorting loudly. Its front hoofs are lifted higher and higher as it starts galloping as though through high water. She feels the pent up power as its front end rises beneath her, until the horse feels ready to make a giant leap up into the air, leaving the ground behind permanently. She twists her hands into its mane and gives the horse its head. They are boxed in on all sides for now, but she really hopes its temper cools once they asumme their full formation.

The landscape opens up before them, wide grassy plains spreading out beneath a vast, blue sky.

She hears the Commander giving orders, but the wind snatches his words away. Thankfully the situation leaves little room for doubt, and as she hears a cry which sounds something like "Ahoy" the formation fans out before her.

The moment there is space between them and the surrounding horses, her mount relaxes. Its frantic, uphill canter turns into a swift gallop as it puts its head back down. The spare horse, obviously of a gentler nature than the lacquered black she rides, adjusts its pace to hers, resigning itself to its fate with the outmost grace.

She loses sight of those around her, weaving back and forth between groups of trees and thickets, with the occasional large rock to block her path. After being almost deafened by the thunder of the formation, the silence of the plains seems vast and echoing. The sounds of her horses' hoofs are muffled against the grass and soft dirt. Her eyes scan the horizon to her right, though she knows that by the time she sees anything from this position Annie will already be knee-deep into the formation.

" _What do I do?"_

She clears a group of trees and sees the team at the very back of the right flank in the distance. All is peaceful and quiet back here.

Then she sees it, a flare blazing a trail of black smoke towards the sky up ahead. The front right flank has encountered an abnormal. She digs her heels viciously into the sides of her horse and the animal surges forward. She gives him free rein, using only her seat to steer him the right way as she urges it to go faster. There's a yank on the tether as the spare horse is caught unawares by this sudden burst of speed. For a moment it appears the beast might pull the other way, but then the years of strict breeding and training seem to kick in and the horse flicks its tail, picking up the pace.

She hears nothing but the wind. Her eyes search frantically for signs of horses and riders, or battle, but all she sees is gentle grasslands and trees. She needs to stay calm. Panicking will not-

There is another black flare.

Two abnormals making it this far into the formation? Something has gone terribly amiss. She steers her horse in the direction of the black flare, but before she makes it further than a few paces she sees a cluster of yellow flares from the front right flank. It has been hit so hard the mission must be aborted, which means- But that is where Kirschtein should be, and Armin... and Reiner.

She keeps on the course.

The shape of a rider appears to her left as she steers clear of a group of trees. Iris squints her eyes trying to make out who it is when the sun catches the hair on the person's head, reflecting the light in hues of brilliant gold. Krista, it has to be. She must have strayed towards the right to gather information. Krista spots her and steers her horse onto Iris' path.

"Did you see the yellow flares?" she says as they come together, sounding winded.

"Yes. I am on my way there," Iris replies.

"On your way there?" Krista says incredulously, just as another swarm of yellow rises to the sky to their left. The information will have reached the central front within ten minutes or so.

"I have a feeling they might have encountered something...  _other_. I am going to find out."

Krista looks startled, then her eyes drift ahead and her mouth falls open. She points. "Look! Isn't that Jean's horse?"

It is indeed Jean's brown beast coming towards them at a gallop. Iris' stomach lurches. Krista catches the horse's rein as it runs right up to her, seeking the company of its own kind. The horse's sides are lathered with sweat, its eyes round and wide as dinner plates.

"He looks terrified, the poor thing," Krista says, the worry evident in her tone.

"Let us make haste."

Iris gathers her reins in one hand and uses the tail end as a whip, urging her horse to pick up the pace even more. The sleek black horse thunders forward in the direction Kirschtein's horse had come from.

"Iris, wait!" Krista cries behind her. "We don't know what we'll find over there. Maybe we should approach carefully."

If Jean has been unhorsed something bad must have happened to him. Obviously there is someone still alive out there as they fired the flare, but without a horse they will not stay alive for long, not when the right flank has collapsed. He could be injured, or his maneuvering gear might be damaged, leaving him stranded on the ground while the enemy approaches.

Another flare rises from behind the trees, and this time it is purple. It is the signal that someone is in distress and requires aid. She hears Krista catching up to her, and together they steer their horses into the cluster of trees.

"There!" Krista points ahead, where three people and one horse are waiting.

Even from afar, Iris knows who they are. The distinct outlines of their bodies reveal them to be Jean, Armin and Reiner, and they are all standing. Two of them wave as they see Krista and Iris approaching.

"Krista!" Jean says as they rein their horses in next to him. He looks to Iris. "And you," he concludes unsentimentally.

"You are alright," Iris says, feeling decidedly out of breath.

"You thought I'd croak the moment I was out of your sight?" Kirschtein jokes rather half-heartedly.

Iris looks at Armin's bandaged head. Someone seems to at least have made an attempt to flatten him.

"Hurry up and get on the horses guys. The right flank is in serious trouble," Krista says, throwing the reins of her horse to Jean. He gives the horse a once over.

"We know. Hey, this is my horse," he says half-accusingly, giving the animal a rather dark look.

Reiner stands on the ground, holding the reins of his horse.

"Did you see it on the way here? The bitch just smashed her way through. Armin says it's another one like Eren." He looks at Iris, who shakes her head. They had not seen Annie on the way here.

"Here Armin, take my spare horse. What happened to yours Krista?" she asks, for the first time reflecting on why Krista had come alone.

"I gave it to one of the soldiers in the central column, his horse stepped down a rabbit hole and broke its leg. Armin, what happened to you? Are you okay?"

"I'll be alright," Armin replies as he climbs into the saddle.

They ride after the formation, keeping close together.

"Lucky you guys saw our flare," Braun says, riding on Iris' right side.

"I was in the area when I saw Iris headed your way, saying she'd seen a black flare," Krista replies.

Hearing this, Iris sees Braun's expression darken.

"What?" he barks. "You saw a black flare and started riding towards it? Why the hell would you do something that stupid?"

"I needed to investigate, as no abnormal should be able to make it this far into the formation."

"It's not your damned job to take care of abnormals, and this thing is even more dangerous than those bastards are. Did you even think about what would happen if you ran into it?!"

"Calm down Reiner, Bachmann didn't know that thing isn't an abnormal," Kirschtein says.

"Not an abnormal?" Krista looks mystified.

"Which is exactly why she should have stayed in her place! That big bitch almost killed you and me both Jean. If she hadn't lost interest and run off we'd all be dead by now!"

"Lost interest? What happened back there?" Iris asks.

"The right flank seems to have been attacked by a group of abnormals and that female titan. She attacked me, but instead of killing me she took my hood off and looked at my face," Armin explains.

"I believe she is a human shifter looking for Eren, and the three of us engaged her to give Commander Erwin time to respond to the yellow flares. We fought her and she managed to catch Reiner, but when he broke free she suddenly stood up and headed off in another direction... towards the centre of the column... where I think the commander has placed Squad Levi and Eren."

Iris looks at Reiner, whose face is arranged in a steely, stern expression.

"She caught you?"

Why would Annie do such a thing, unless...

"Yeah but I managed to shred her hand and get loose," he replies darkly.

"We need to get back to our stations before they signal the retreat," Kirschtein says. "I can't believe it's already over. Goes to show how dangerous it is out here."

Annie had changed her direction after her encounter with the three. Iris looks at Armin, whose contemplative expression leaves little room for her to doubt that he finds this occurrence rather strange. A loud 'bang' interrupts hers and Armin's intersecting trains of thought, and as they look up they see the central column has collectively fired green flares to indicate a change of direction.

"Wh-what?" Kirschtein says in tones of shock. "There's no order to retreat? We're just changing course?"

Commander Erwin must be pleased. He wanted to lure the enemy to expose themselves, and they had played right into his hands.

"I will fire our signal," she says, and a green pillar goes up from their position moments later. "It is my opinion that we should keep together. Our strength is all that will keep any approaching titans from penetrating deeper into the formation."

"It's not a bad idea. Let's spread out a little to cover more area, but stay close enough to see each other," Armin concludes.

They see tall trees rising in the distance within the hour, as the column approaches the area now known as the "Titan Forest". Their current course is taking them right towards the treeline. At first she expects an order to circle the forest, but the closer they get without such an order being given the more she begins to think that this has been their destination this whole time. Why, she cannot say, but it is not as though Erwin would have led them here by mistake.

Ahead of her, Braun slows his horse until they are level.

"Does this seem strange to you?" he asks, nodding in the direction of the forest.

"It is certainly unexpected."

"They'll have to split the formation if we go there, why would they do that?"

"The Commander might have realised what is chasing them. Perhaps he intends to lead the 'female titan' into the forest to give Squad Levi good terrain to engage her in."

"Ah, yeah of course. They're elite soldiers after all... They might be able to take her." He smiles rather half-heartedly. Iris sees beads of sweat form and roll down Braun's neck and brow.

Once they come closer they encounter an officer who directs them to take a path along the treeline. A kilometre or so up ahead they encounter a senior member who orders them to tether their horses and take up position in the trees. They are told to stop titans from entering.

Before heading up to his destined branch, Braun turns around and says to her: "Sorry I yelled. I just wouldn't want you to get in her way."

"I know," she replies.

She takes up position on a tree branch next to his, and they keep watch of the surrounding grasslands, scouting for approaching titans. The senior Survey Corps soldier who ordered them up here joins them shortly, but refuses to answer any questions about what is going on.

Iris watches Braun intently. He grits his teeth hard and stares fixedly at the ground below. They must have established some kind of signal, if their plan is for him and Bertholdt to make their exit immediately after Annie gets hold of Eren. Not knowing whether they would be in visual range of each other, it might be a cry or a vocalization. Or perhaps they would rather slip away unnoticed later on. It will only take a second for her to pull the weapon from her pocket, undo the safety, and fire a bullet into the nape of Braun's neck. It would be laughably easy – A very light squeeze of the trigger, a loud bang, and then it would be over.

" _And then what?"_

No, she must not think that way - Focus on the task. Reiner Braun is the enemy. For now it serves a purpose that he lives, but he must not be allowed to return home.

The minutes drag by impossibly slowly while they wait. Their presence attracts nearby titans who crowd in around their trees, some attempting rather badly to climb, while most just stand below looking up. A couple of them even lie down, assuming comically out of place and strangely human-like restive positions. Braun soon tires of looking at their thoughtless expressions and turns his apprehensive, contemplative gaze to her. She looks back for as long as she can bear it, and then feigns a very great interest in the pug-nosed climber who is very slowly making his way up Jean's and Armin's trees. It is all so uneventful and mundane she feels like screaming.

" _Is today the day it ends?"_

It was not today.

Reiner had not moved when the titan's scream echoed through the forest, and he had fought alongside the rest of them in their attempt to stop the titans from charging into the forest. When it became obvious even to those less perceptive than Armin that this had been an attempt at capturing one of the titans responsible for the breach of Wall Maria, Reiner's face had darkened. The order to retreat reached them with no report of their mission having been successful, and as they carted an unconscious Eren out of the forest, the lines on Reiner's forehead deepened. He rejoined the formation quietly, and rode with them back to the wall.

Eren was taken away upon their arrival back at the castle under the pretence of overseeing his physical state. The rest of the uninjured worked together to clear away the wagons, tend the horses, and lead the few with minor injuries up to the surgery. When Armin first went missing, Iris was simply too busy with her own struggles to think much of it, but when he did not return for supper she looked around and noticed that Mikasa too seemed to have gone missing.

Most new recruits made it through the expedition, but not all, and a good number of senior soldiers lost their lives in the attempt to capture Annie. Junior and senior personnel drink to the dead that evening, and many did not stop at one drink, or five for that matter. Iris found Reiner sitting on the floor by a corner, beneath one of the large windows in one of the common halls. His expression was the usual grim frown, but his face seemed strangely colourless. She sat down next to him, taking in hand in hers, and they stayed there for a long time; not speaking. On the other side of the room Bertholdt was looking on with a sort of troubled expression on his face.

Mikasa did not return to the dormitory that night.

A day goes by with all activities apart from basic chores being suspended. They are told to eat well and to recuperate, and while most of them are glad to do so it does not take a genius to notice that the officers are doing anything but recuperating silently. There is a quiet sort of frenzied activity going on behind closed doors, big words discussed in hushed voices while no information at all is offered to the new recruits.

They were awoken very early next morning, told to don civilian garb and to gather in the entrance hall. She hesitates only a moment before extracting the two objects hidden in her mattress. She dresses herself in a floor-length skirt over her chemise, and a bodice with pockets inside which she hides the steel and the silver. Sorting through what she knows and what she suspects, she joins Ymir and Krista as they make their way downstairs.

Mike Zacharias and his team awaits the recruits in the entrance hall, informing them of an operation which will commence right away. They are brought out into the yard where horses awaits them, and as they are mounting Iris notices that aside from the Shiganshina trio, there is yet another person missing: Jean Kirschtein. She asks Marco if he knows where Jean is, but all he knows is that Jean was taken aside yesterday morning and told to come along.

They ride south until they come upon a manor house, and there they are ushered inside, hearing the locks on the doors click behind them. Gelgar comes in some time later to explain that they are being kept inside for their own safety, and they are told to put their trust in Squad Mike, and to be patient until further information can be given to them.

Iris paces back and forth along the rows of tables inside the large hall, unable to contain her frustration. Armin must have gone to the Commander with his suspicions, and together they must have figured out that there are more than one infiltrator within the King's Armed Forces – The one which attacked during the expedition two days ago, and someone within the Survey Corps who had fed the female titan the information to attack the right flank of the formation. Jean had divulged to her that he had been told Eren and Squad Levi had been stationed to the back of the left flank, which might be why he is not with them at the present moment.

She is a suspect. It might be the most ridiculous thing she has ever heard, but there it is.

She had been among those told that Eren would be on the right flank, and if the Survey Corps begin to dig deep into her background history they will soon run into the impenetrable wall formed by Karl Fritz's treaty with the Council, made a century ago. She is not sure, but she thinks it might be bad if they were made aware there is a group of people within the walls who answer only to the highest possible authority – King Fritz himself.

Time runs short for her, but she believes it might run even shorter for Reiner and Bertholdt. The rest of the Corps would only send them out here rather than begin interrogations right away if there was something even more important on the agenda. They must be attempting to capture Annie. If they are hoping to keep the rest of the suspects here without the culprits becoming suspicious, they might not be so lucky however. Reiner is already suspicious. She sees it in his face.

He and Bertholdt have made a terrible show of playing chess; a game which only one of the participants, Bertholdt, seems to know how to play properly. Next to them, at the end of the table, Connie and Sasha are talking about all the things they would rather be doing than sitting here.

Reiner grabs her arms as she goes past him for about the hundredth time.

"How about you take a break from doing that? It's making me nervous."

"Does that account for your terrible play?" She indicates the chequered board.

He blinks and looks at it.

"What do you mean?" He looks at her. "What's wrong with it?"

She looks at the board again.

"Bertholdt has you in two."

Reiner stares at the board.

"He does?!" He looks accusingly at Bertholdt, who shrugs.

"I was wondering when you'd notice."

Reiner's expression darkens, and he crosses his arms over his chest saying: "Sometimes I wonder if you taught me the rules wrong just to have a laugh. I don't get how you can even focus on a game at a time like this."

Bertholdt gives him what can only be described as a warning look. His eyes flick nervously to Iris, lips pursing slightly.

"What else are we supposed to do? We were told to wait," he says carefully.

Reiner snorts.

"I know you always do what you're told Bert, but there's obviously something strange going on here." He looks up at her. "You feel it too, don't you Iris?"

There is no point denying it. She puts her hand on his shoulder, nodding slowly. "Definitely something, although I cannot say what."

He looks soberly around the room.

"Everyone here feels it, they're anxious... Well, everyone except you two."

He turns to Connie and Sasha. Iris sees Connie's brows knit together.

"Huh?" he says, clearly having missed out on the conversation leading up to this point.

Wearing his most stern expression, Braun says: "If you're serious about sneaking out of here, I'll help you."

Iris tries not to flinch. Does that mean he wants to escape so that he and Bertholdt can make a tactical retreat? Although... it is not as though they could not just transform and flatten this entire building. Doing so would also have them leaving without Eren, something she feels sure they would do only if they had no other option.

"You would? Why?" Connie says, voicing her unspoken question.

"Because something's off about this, don't you see? Why did they send us out here and locked us inside this house dressed as civilians? We were forbidden to wear our uniforms and gears, and told not to train. It makes absolutely no sense - We're soldiers." He slams his fist down onto the table, making someone behind them start awake and give off a loud squeak.

"What's even more suspicious is that all the officers are fully equipped. Why would they be, when we're still inside Wall Rose? What is it they expect to be fighting in here?"

"Hm..." Connie considers, which looks like it might be just a bit painful. "There must be bears around here."

At this, Sasha chuckles wryly. "Bears... sure."

"They'd have guns if they were afraid of bears attacking. I think we should sneak out to see how the officers react."

If they sneak out she might be able to catch them alone and finish her mission. She cannot afford to wait until they become suspicious enough to flee.

At that moment, Sasha frowns. She does this whenever her stomach is growling, but it does not seem to be the case this time, as she leans forward to place her ear against the table. She listens intently for a heartbeat or two, and then her head snaps back up, eyes as wide and white as boiled eggs.

"I hear the ground rumbling," she says loudly. "It sounds like footsteps!"

Bertholdt looks very intently at Reiner, and perhaps it is just her imagination but she thinks he might not look entirely as stunned as the rest of them. Braun however does not seem to notice his friend's efforts at establishing eye-contact but rather just watches Sasha darkly.

"Eh?" Connie frowns.

"What are you on about, Sasha?" Reiner says severely. "If you're saying there are titans coming... You realize that would mean they've broken through Wall Rose?"

And the only way that could have happened is if the enemy has sent reinforcements.

"Shit." Iris stares numbly out the window, where the lands outside still appears deceptively empty.

Reiner turns on his chair and blinks up at her.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm not lying," Sasha shouts, raising her arms into the air and flailing them wildly. "I know what I heard! It was the sound of footsteps!"

There is a loud 'thunk' as Nanaba lands on the windowsill outside, making them all jump slightly. She yanks the window open, leans in and says: "Is everyone still in here?!" as though they had expected someone might have made their way off – Some titan-shifting traitors perhaps.

When no one answers her she does a quick survey of them and seems to conclude that they are indeed all here.

"We have multiple titans approaching from the south, they are only half a kilometre from our position and headed our way. There's no time for you to equip yourselves, you must take the horses now and ride for the nearby villages to assist in the evacuation. You got that?!"

Connie and Sasha look thunderstruck. Had they not been speaking of their homes being somewhere nearby?

Reiner's head whips around to Bertholdt, and with a strange look on his face he says: "So they... they broke through the wall?"

What in god's name is happening? The two of them do not seem to know, which makes the situation seem all the more dire. This had not been part of the plan, and if there is another titan-shifter out there who has grown tired of this cat and mouse game...

Grandfather has not awakened, the Fritz seems unable to use the founding titan's powers... if Sina falls... She holds on to the back of Reiner's chair.

"Shit."

"Sorry but your lunch is on hold until you've finished this mission," Nanaba says to Sasha in particular, as if she fears further incentive might be needed. "Alright, get going now! You won't be able to laze around anymore if you end up dead."

This staggering misuse of logic now spoken she lunges back out of the window, and anything else anyone is saying is completely drowned out as a great number of chairs scrape across the floor; their owners jumping to their feet.

Their exit from the mansion can only be described as organized chaos, but after a few minor hiccups they all find themselves mounted and speeding away from the manor house in a tight formation. As Captain Mike begins to run through the plan it becomes evident to them all they will be split up, with the southern team taking the most dangerous route. Connie is chosen to lead it as his home village is located there, and betting all she has on that Reiner and Bertholdt will want to head there, Iris immediately volunteers to go along. Reiner gives her a long look whose meaning she cannot fathom, and then volunteers to help Connie search his village. When asked, Bertholdt declares his intent to join them.

Iris pulls lightly on the reins and falls back until she is level with Ymir and Krista. They will be headed west.

"Take care of yourselves," she says to them.

"Of course, but I want to try to help as many as possible if I can," Krista says, looking troubled. "You take care too."

"Take care of ourselves? You should come with us. If that numbskull gets up to the kind of heroics Armin and Jean said he did, he might end up getting all of you killed." Ymir leans to her left, closer to Iris and lowers her voice. "Something's off here, and I know you know it. There's something off about him too... I'm starting to think that some people here aren't who they say they are. Be careful."

Ymir straightens in her saddle, and judging from the look of curiosity on Krista's face, Ymir had spoken too quietly for her to hear.

Could Ymir have figured something out on her own, or is there more to her warning than she lets on? Iris nods to her.

"I have never had friends such as you before... I want you to know that I am so glad to have met you both."

Ymir gives her a very glum look. "Don't you dare start talking as if we'll never see each other again."

"Exactly, we'll finish this mission and meet up later, okay?" Krista smiles.

At the head of the column Mike Zacharias calls for them to split up, and the formation breaks up into smaller units. Iris turns and sees Ymir and Krista riding away accompanied by Nanaba, feeling both relieved and troubled to be parted from them. Relieved because they might be riding to a better fate than the one she faces. Troubled because of the words Ymir had spoken to her in such a soft, low voice.

Just as their team turns south, the approaching titans surge forwards, sprinting like madmen. Wasting no time, Mike Zacharias orders Gelgar to take charge of the team and turns his horse around. Uttering low sounds of disbelief, they all watch him disappear in the distance. If Iris is not mistaken, she sees steam begin to rise from his position shortly after she has lost sight of his horse.

They spend the next ten hours in the saddle, riding from village to village and warning the citizens to evacuate hastily. Most of them have no horses. They make off on foot, or in carriages drawn by oxen, or mules. Their crawling processions are noisy, and in many cases on the smelly side of things, but most of all they are terrifyingly slow. She supposes that depending on which side of this you find yourself on, the fact that not everyone will make it, if Wall Rose really has been breached, might even be a good thing. She tries to think of it whenever someone is too old or too young to even walk at a decent pace.

As day turns to late afternoon, Connie suddenly kicks his heels into the sides of his horse and gallops past them. The village up ahead must be his home. One look at it is enough to tell that the titans have gone through here. Trees lie toppled over, houses have large holes in them, and smoke trails slowly towards the sky.

"Wait, Connie! There might be titans around, fall back!" Reiner shouts, but Connie does not slow down.

He rides into town, and as they approach in a more cautious way they can hear him calling out, asking if there is anyone there, anyone at all. No one answers him. They hear his horse advancing further in among the ruins, and then he falls quiet. With a hand sign, Gelgar signals them forward. They find Connie standing before the ruins of a house. A titan lies in the rubble, looking like an overturned beetle with its shrivelled limbs hanging limp across the surrounding clutter.

They check the perimeter and find no other titans in the near vicinity. This one is alone, abandoned by its comrades.

Iris halts before it, staring disbelievingly. As far as she knows, there are only two ways to turn people into titans, and only one bloodline capable of doing such a thing on a larger scale.

"Strange, isn't it?" she hears Bertholdt say. He is standing next to her, but she has no idea how long he has been there for.

"Indeed. It cannot walk or crawl, and yet it managed to end up here. It is almost as though it appeared out of thin air."

They look at each other.

"You're handling all this pretty well," he says. The statement is so shockingly inaccurate she hears herself chortle.

"I would go as far as to say that you are handling it rather well too."

He seems to consider this a moment.

"I suppose I'm keeping it together..."

"Others are not doing as well," she says, trusting that he will not bother denying it.

Bertholdt sighs and looks in the direction Reiner disappeared earlier. "No. He's been a little odd since the battle to retake Trost. Stress, I think. But he'll recover. I wouldn't worry too much."

"If we survive, you mean."

He blinks and looks at her confusedly. "Sorry, what?"

"I would not say we are in a safe position right now, and if Wall Rose has been breached we might not last the night."

"Oh, yes... of course. I suppose I should not assume that we'll survive," he says mildly.

"While I would argue that it is never wrong to have a positive outlook on things, I believe there is a very strong possibility that not all of us will make it through tomorrow."

Again they look at each other. She wonders if he will slump over quietly after the bullet has torn through his spine and extinguished his central nervous system. She had thought of doing it as they rode here, but with all the riders gathered so close together...

Reiner walks briskly around a corner, a pale, frantic look on his face.

"What are you two talking about?" he says, and without waiting for a reply he continues: "Has anyone found any survivors?"

Bertholdt at once looks somewhat congested.

"Not that I know of," Iris replies and sees his jaw clench. He looks past them and catches sight of Connie.

"Connie," he thunders. "Are there any survivors?!"

Connie stops a stride or two away from them. In a dead, flat voice he replies: "No... Gone, it's... all over. There's no one here... My home is... gone."

Reiner's shoulders slump and his brows are pushed even closer together as he bares his teeth in a grimace. He takes a step towards Connie and puts a heavy hand on his shoulder.

At Iris' side Bertholdt stiffens considerably, looking very troubled.

Gelgar and Lynne return. They inquire whether anyone has seen any bodies, and as the citizens of Ragako are, unbeknownst to them, the titans now wandering around, no one can say they have seen any bodies. Smiling, Lynne suggests that the titans could not have eaten the people here so cleanly as to leave no trace behind. She thinks it is a sign that the villagers saw the titans and managed to escape in time.

"Yeah, you're right," Connie says, looking hopeful despite the tears running down his cheeks.

Seeing his bright expression, Iris feels inexplicably ashamed; dirty, as if this is somehow her fault. Not telling him the truth when she knows what happened makes it seem even worse, like a violation of some sort.

"Are the torches ready?" Gelgar asks as he fiddles with his horse's saddle girth. "Good, we're heading out to try to locate the damaged area of the wall."

Everyone starts making their way to their horses when Braun looks around at her. He stops in his tracks, evidently troubled.

"Did something happen? What's wrong?"

"It is only..." She fumbles for words. "Seeing Connie's home like this... makes me sad."

Reiner flinches, like her words had been a slap. A look of intense pain distorts his features as if he is fighting some inner battle, and closing his eyes he puts a hand on her back, stroking reassuringly.

"Yeah, me too Iris."

When he opens his eyes again there is a hard, determined glint in them.

"We need to put those feelings aside for now. Let's go," he says and leads her to her horse.

They mount, and have come as far as turning their horses heads to follow Gelgar and Lynne out of the village, when behind her Iris hears something which makes her halt her horse.

"Wh... Welco...me ho...me."

The words are a croaked, low wheezing, but fully intelligible. Connie, who had just mounted his horse freezes, a look of unbridled horror settling on his face.

"Wh?" he stammers when Reiner gallops up next to him, grabbing him and shaking him as if trying to awake the sleeping.

"Hey Connie, hurry up. We'll fall behind Gelgar and the others if we don't get a move on."

"R-Reiner," Connie stammers, looking between her and Braun. "Iris... Did any of you just hear that? It sounded like... it just sp-"

"I didn't hear anything," Reiner barks, his hard eyes gleaming coolly. "Anyway, stop talking and focus on our mission!"

Connie stares at Iris as if he hopes to reason with her instead.

"I-It just... It can't be, but... It sounded like... sounded like my mum," he says, and his eyes feel like a weight on her.

"Connie, do you understand our situation?! Our actions right now will decide the fates of hundreds of thousands of people!" Reiner thunders angrily, and Iris doubts that he is talking about Connie anymore.

"What's more important – That, or getting lost in some sort of ridiculous delusion?! If you're going to think, think of your family taking shelter right now. If you're really a soldier you need to focus right now!" He kicks his heels into the sides of his horse and the poor animal darts forward, its eyes rolling indignantly.

"He is right," she says, and turns her horse around to follow.

"Yeah... of course," she hears Connie say behind her, and then the sound of his horse moving. "That's right!"

They catch up to the others quickly, riding side by side in silence. She notices Reiner and Bertholdt throwing furtive glances Connie's way, although he does not seem to realise it. From time to time Reiner glances her way too, and unless she is mistaken there is a pensive, questioning look to him.

They both know that even if she had not said so to Connie, she had heard the titan speak.

 


	19. No Goodbyes Bachmann

Darkness falls around them as they ride alongside Wall Maria in search of the breach. They light their torches as soon as the sun sinks below the crest of the wall. With each passing minute they see less and less of the surrounding landscape, and their gallop gradually slows to a trot, and then to a careful walk. The glow from their fires create little halos of light around their horses, but it is impossible to see anything beyond. They must be closing in on the breach by now. Looking around, Iris spots something up ahead of them. She narrows her eyes, as if it would somehow help against the darkness, and tries to understand what she sees. It looks like...torchlight? Within a few minutes they find themselves face to face with Nanaba's group, Ymir and Krista in tow.

"Huh?" Gelgar says as he halts his horse before the newcomers, expressing what they are all thinking. "Did you follow the wall here too?"

"Yeah, so... where's the hole?" Nanaba looks bewildered.

"Huh?" Gelgar repeats, evidently struggling to comprehend this new development.

"Well we took a detour and followed the wall starting from the far west, but we never found the breach. If we didn't find it then you must have, right?"

"No, we haven't."

"Could you have missed it?" Lynne puts in.

"No way," Henning, a dark haired veteran of Squad Mike, says. His combed back hairdo looks as though it has seen better days, and it is by now well on its way towards resembling a crow's nest. "The breach would have to be large enough for a titan to pass through," he continues.

Gelgar looks around, seemingly at a loss.

"So... what should we do? Should we check again?"

"We should, but..." Nanaba pauses, inspecting them all with a dark expression. "I think both we and our horses are close to exhaustion. We might miss something because we lack the focus... If only we had some moonlight."

At that very moment the clouds clear, and in the light of a full moon they see the outline of a castle in the near distance. They turn their horses around, and half an hour later they find themselves approaching the pile of debris that had once been the castle gate. The outer bailey is completely collapsed on one side, and the castle itself could hardly be described as anything more than a glorified ruin. The keep has seen better days, half of it looking as though a titan might have sat on it, though judging from the wreckage the damage was not done recently. Luckily for them, the tower is both intact and shows the trace of having housed some kind of people in the last few years. They had even left a few supplies behind. When retreating inside, Iris notices plaque on the wall which names this fortification "Utgard Castle".

Gelgar lights a small fire at the centre of the floor on the tower's third level, and they gather around it; sitting on musty, old blankets on the stone floor, or on the chairs beside the single table. Gelgar, who seems to possess some sort of sixth sense when it comes to the acquisition of a certain kind of drink, goes off to "explore", and returns with a bottle of unknown origin. He holds it up to the light.

"I even found this right here. Hm... What's written on it?"

Glancing at it, Iris sees that it is written in old common tongue. Common, because at the time it was spoken Eldia ruled all the known world. The label says "Pink Pigeon Rum Distillery" and below "No bird contents - Only molasses". To say that she is cold would be an understatement, but Iris cannot find it in her to sit down by the fire. The flames themselves do not bother her, but something else does; something inside her. Instead she paces around the room, feeling strangely surrounded.

She could have pulled the pistol on them out there, in the dark. She would have had to do some considerable amounts of explaining afterwards, but in their present situation stealth seems to be firmly out of the question. Their slow pace and the darkness out in the field had certainly presented her with a perfectly good opportunity, but something had stayed her hand.

Krista asks Henning what they plan to do, and he tells the recruits to rest until the morning. They will move out early and find the breach - If there is indeed one.

"But where could the titans have come from if it turns out the wall hasn't been breached?" Krista asks, hugging her knees.

"It'll be our job to figure that out tomorrow. You should all rest now," he says, giving Iris a significant look before he climbs the stairs to the tower.

Krista had just asked a rather important question. Iris turns on her heel once more, pacing back the way she had come. The only ones said to be capable of creating titans at will is the royal bloodline, and yet the enemy across the sea have been creating titans to release onto Paradis for a long time. Whatever way they have, the Council believes it to be something invasive. Is it feasible to assume that a group large enough to restrain an entire village at once, somehow made it inside Wall Rose, turned the citizens of Ragako, and then made it out over the wall again? The Ragako titans would have torn them apart. This leaves the other possible explanation as the more probable one. There is however, one problem with this explanation too: The royal bloodline created the titans using the founding titan's powers, but the enemy does not possess the founder. Evidently, there must be another way to create titans, a way not even the Council knows about.

Then... could the enemy have found a non-invasive way to expose people to whatever turns Eldians into titans? It seems likely. It also seems likely that the person capable of activating the unknown agent to trigger the transformation is another titan shifter. But why? Why now?

Ymir interrupts her train of thoughts by leaning forward, gazing intently at Connie.

"Connie, what happened to your village?"

He had been staring absent-mindedly into the flames, but now he looks up.

"Destroyed... The titans had already trampled through the whole place."

Ymir stares at him with an expression Iris has never seen before. She averts her eyes, gazing at the floor.

"Oh," Ymir says quietly. "That's-"

"But no one had been eaten," Connie interrupts, looking thoughtful. "It looked like everyone had gotten away, which I'm grateful for."

Ymir looks back up, her gaze sharpening.

"Didn't you say your village was destroyed?"

"Well the houses had been destroyed and all, but there were no bodies. If they had been eaten there would have been blood or other remains left behind, right? Since there weren't any, it must mean no one was killed," Connie mutters slowly with a look on his face as though he finds it difficult to believe.

Ymir's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and unless Iris is mistaken, it looks as though she holds her breath.

"Only..." Connie continues, thinking aloud. "There's something that's bothered me since then. The titan that was in my house – It was just lying there for some reason, even though there was no way it could have gotten there on its own. And I thought... I thought it kind of resembled my mum... Do you think... I mean what could it-"

"Connie," Reiner interrupts. "Are you still going on about that? You're-"

"Are you stupid or something?!" Ymir laughs jarringly, like this is the most ridiculous thing she has ever heard. "So your mother was a titan, eh Connie? If that's the case then why the hell are you so tiny?! I mean, come on – How does that even make any sense?!"

Every single person inside the tower gawps at Ymir in open-mouthed surprise. Even Reiner and Bertholdt look stunned. Iris halts her pacing, feeling something cold slither inside her belly.

"I always knew you were a moron, but maybe I had it the wrong way around," Ymir continues, her face twisting into an ugly, mocking grimace. "Maybe you were some kind genius all along, eh?!" She tips her head back and howls with laughter.

Connie looks to be thinking so hard it hurts him. He groans, scratching his head.

"Ugh... Just, shut up."

But Ymir is not done. She leans in closer, fixing Connie with her grey eyes.

"So if you're right, then your good old da' must be a titan too, right? Because if not, then you know... How would they be able to do it?"

At first Connie looks as if someone had just slapped him, but then his face starts to twist angrily.

"Just shut up and go to bed, you bitch!"

Ymir leans back, shrugging. "Alright, alright, chill out." She ignores Krista's look of shocked disapproval.

Standing stock-still, Iris looks at Ymir with a sort of stunned resignation. The puzzle-pieces are starting to fit together, and the image taking form is not something beautiful, but something ugly. She grinds her teeth together, balling her hands into fists. This changes nothing. Besides, if this came to be in the way she thinks it might have, it is even sort of a good thing... Sort of... She turns her back to the room and finds that it is a relief not to have to look at any of them.

There is a soft rustling behind her as someone rises to their feet, and over the crackling fire she hears the sound of light footsteps. Someone lays their hand on her shoulder, speaking quietly:

"I'm heading upstairs to see if anyone's stowed some food away."

Iris looks to the left, right into Ymir's cautious eyes. She considers for a moment. If Reiner and Bertholdt were going to do something drastic they would probably have done so by now, and they have nothing to gain by revealing what they are here and now.

"I... will assist you," she says, resisting the urge to frown deeply.

"Grab that candle from the shelf." Ymir nods to something which might be misconstrued as a shelf.

Iris hears Ymir start climbing the stairs as she retrieves the candle. She holds it over the fire to light it. Reiner sits on the floor to her left, looking anything but comfortable. His arms are crossed over his chest, his posture so tense she sees the fabric of his shirt straining across his shoulders. He eyes her with a deep-seated caution she is not sure she has seen in him before. She holds his gaze for a moment and then straightens, burning candle now in hand. She ascends the spiral steps, climbing higher and higher until she finds Ymir waiting for her just outside one of the aged wooden doors.

"So you didn't change your mind," she says, looking down at Iris as she climbs the last steps. "Good."

"We start in here?" Iris pushes the door open and steps inside. She holds the candle out, inspecting the circular room. The door makes a soft creaking sound as Ymir closes it behind them.

"So, you guys made it through today without any strange incidents after all... If you start looking through the crates over there I'll start over here." Ymir points her to the crates below the window.

Iris puts the candle on top of a barrel in the space between their stacks of crates.

"What do you mean by 'strange incidents'?" she says, lifting the top off her first crate. The smell of dust and old fabric rises from within, and she sees some kind of green fabric.

"Stupid question really, since the whole world's gone to shit. Nevermind I asked."

She hears a clattering as Ymir rummages through the contents of her crate. "Didn't think Connie would end up flipping it too though," she remarks disinterestedly.

Iris, having pulled out what looks like a very old satin curtain from her crate, pauses.

"I was beside him as we were about to leave Ragako."

Ymir stops moving.

"So, was that midget's mother a titan?"

Iris puts the lid back on her first crate, opening the one beside it instead.

"I really could not say, as I have never seen his mother. But that titan certainly had not walked there, nor did it fall from the sky."

"Then, how do you think it got there?" From the sound of her voice, Iris would say Ymir has turned around and is now facing her.

"My guess is that Connie's house is that titan's point of origin," she says firmly, turning to look at Ymir.

"You know, I would've thought that an idea like that would upset most people." Ymir looks calm, but Iris notices her hand clutching the edge of her crate so hard she can see the tendons silhouetted through the skin.

"I believe it would." Iris turns back around and resumes her search. Behind her she hears Ymir do the same.

Iris finds a canister at the bottom of her crate, and using both her hands she lifts it up, trying to read the label in the flickering light. Behind her, the door utters a loud creaking sound and begins to swing open. Whoever has come stops, looking into the room.

"... What're you doing Ymir?" Reiner says, and he appears unaware of the fact the Ymir is not alone. The door must be blocking his view of Iris.

"Creeping into a girl's room at night, Reiner? Well you always had that air about you... I'd be careful of him if I were you, Iris."

"Huh?" Reiner sounds surprised. The door produces a high-pitched wailing sound as it is pushed open all the way. "Ah, I was wondering where you'd gone."

Ymir snorts. "Anyone ever told you that 'possessive' isn't a good thing, twitterbrain?"

"Heard of stones and glass houses, Ymir?" He gives her a knowing half-smile. "So then, what are you two doing in here?"

Ymir gives Reiner an appraising look before turning back to her crate.

"We're looking around for something to put in our bellies. Considering that this'll probably end up being our last supper I'd hoped there might be something good up here."

"Right," Reiner says, and Iris hears him crossing his arms. "Look, when Connie was talking about his village earlier... You changed the subject on purpose, didn't you?"

Ymir ignores the question.

"And you helped to divert his attention back at the village," he says to Iris, after enduring a moment of rather pressing silence. "If you can, I'd like the both of you to keep acting like that. This isn't a good time for him to be worrying about his family."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Ymir lets out a triumphant sound and holds up a small canister. "Ah shoot, herring. Not my favourite, but..."

Iris stiffens. If that canister is like the one she is holding...

"Any more like it in there? Let me have a look." She hears Reiner stepping forward, and knows it is too late to stop it from happening.

"... Sure, take it." Ymir replies.

There's a pause as Reiner inspects the small canister. He hums contentedly, turning the canister back and forth in his hands. Iris waits for the moment of realization. She hears the sharp intake of breath as he sees it, followed by a rather pregnant pause.

"These letters... I can't read them. It says 'herring' on it?" His voice is dangerously soft. Ymir freezes.

"You can read these things?" he continues. "I'm really surprised to hear that, Ymir."

No one moves. Iris tightens her grip around the metal jar, trying to think very fast. She stands up, and pretending not to notice the sudden tension in the room she turns around, brandishing the large canister with a bewildered look on her face.

"This one supposedly contains something called 'potatoes'. Do either of you know what 'potatoes' are?"

They turn and stare at her, equally thunderstruck. If she had hoped to confuse Reiner, she has definitely succeeded in doing so. He opens his mouth as if to say something and then closes it again, frowning deeply.

Someone thunders past the door, their footsteps echoing loudly as they sprint down towards the bottom floor.

"All troops, wake up," Lynne screams at the top of her voice, making all three of them jump. "Everyone, get to the roof now!"

The three of them look at each other. Iris puts the canister down.

"We better go," she says mildly moves over to Ymir. She puts her hand out, offering to help her up.

"Thanks." Ymir does not release her grip immediately. Her eyes glimmer knowingly. She lets go, brushing past Reiner on her way out. His expression is stern as Iris turns to follow Ymir out. She hesitates.

"Don't worry," he says stonily, and Iris stiffens. Does he mean to say that she should not worry, as he does not mean to hurt her? To her relief, he continues by saying: "It's not going to end like this."

She nods, not quite knowing what to say, and walks past him through the open doorway. Close together they hurry up the stairs to the roof, where their comrades have gathered to stare out over the parapets. The moon is out once more, lighting up the courtyard and outer bailey. Iris looks around, turning on the spot as she takes it all in.

There are titans everywhere.

A tall one is resting its knee against the battlements of the outer wall, holding a hand against its gut as if suffering from a mild case of colic. Another titan, closer to seven-metres is trying to scale the curtain wall by climbing onto the battlements. The inner courtyard is already crowded with smaller titans, some oddly disproportionate and misshapen, other so humanoid that only their strange, androgynous bodies reveal them to be something other regular people. She hears a strange scratching sound which seems to indicate there is yet another one at the base of the tower, struggling to find purchase against the smooth stone wall.

"Why are they still moving?" Gelgar says frantically, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth as if in an attempt to count them all. "Sundown was several hours ago, they should not be moving."

Reiner and Bertholdt share an almost unnoticeable look between them. For the first time since she got it, Iris is grateful to feel the weight and shape of the pistol holster press against her lower ribs. Krista stares disbelievingly at the titans below.

"What is going on here?" she says, and Iris sees Ymir take a protective step towards her. Ymir's hand goes up as if she wants to put it around Krista's shoulders, but she stops herself. The hand drops. They stand side by side, looking down.

"Hey, look at that," Connie calls, pointing southeast. "Look, it's huge. What the hell is that thing? Is it a titan? It looks kind of like an animal, don't you think?"

Connie looks up at Reiner, but he does not seem to have been listening. He and Bertholdt stare at the hairy titan with shocked recognition. Their bewildered absorption is so evident even Connie notices, and unsure of what to make of it his gaze flickers between the two before going back to the strange creature.

"It's heading for the wall," he says, as if he cannot quite believe it himself.

Iris wonders if she has just wasted her only good chance to accomplish her mission. Perhaps there is still time? But their "friend" might become suspicious if it hears gunfire, and she would rather not see it return here. Perhaps there is still the slightest chance she might make it out of here so long as  _it_ goes its merry way. The tower trembles as one of the tallest titans drops its shoulder and bulls into its side. The jolt has them all stumbling and she sees Gelgar grabbing onto the nearest merlon, leaning out and looking down.

"No no no," he says loudly. "Wait, don't start coming in here. You've got to be kidding me!"

From this she gathers that the smallest titans must have made their way to the door at the foot of the tower. While made of solid wood, it lacks steel or iron fortifications. The titans might be able to break through it... or worse, that big one might have put its foot through it already. If they get inside-

Gelgar jumps up into one of the crenels spouting terrible, base profanity as he draws his blades. With a manly war-cry of: "Because of you I couldn't even get a drink!" he leaps over the edge, disappearing from view.

"Stay back recruits," Nanaba says as she, Lynne and Henning surge forward. "It's time to switch to vertical maneuvering. Let's go!"

They jump off, and the sound of their battle mingles with the echoes of their voices.

" _Now?"_ Iris edges back until she stands at the centre of the roof. She looks southwest and sees the vessel's titan climbing up the wall like a massive, hairy beetle.

" _Not yet."_

More titans are approaching from the lowlands. Now is probably a good time to make peace with the thought that she will not see another dawn. Uselessly, she thinks on how she could have chosen a different life. Dwelling on it will not change a single thing, and still, even at the last, it is difficult not to wonder what might have been. Would they have become destitute if she had chosen to stay at home, and would it really have been so bad? Many of her comrades in the 104th seem to have lived well despite their poverty. Perhaps they would have had other things than titles, a manor house, and connections with the right people. Would she have been a better person - One whose morals were not dictated by fusty old chairmen or a faceless king?

Lynne returns to the roof with a frantic look about her, and the moment to do something has passed.

"Titans have entered the tower. You need to barricade the doors to the upper levels right now, and if you can't stop them you must retreat onto the roof and seal off the entire tower. I can't promise we'll have time to help you if the titans flood the roof... if we're even still alive by then." She turns her gaze to the titans approaching from the lowlands.

"We can't even tell how many there left. Seems doubtful that we'll have enough blades or gas to take them all, but don't you worry yourselves about that. Do your duty, keep fighting for as long as you can everyone. You got that?!"

With a resounding "Yes ma'am!" her comrades turn and stomp towards the open hatch. Iris wastes no time in joining them and ends up half running to keep an even pace with Reiner. Connie follows just behind her with Krista, Bertholdt and Ymir bringing up the rear as they head back down the spiralling steps. Reiner dives for the torch on the wall and pulls it free.

"I'll run downstairs and see how far they've gotten. The rest of you, gather whatever you can find – Anything we can use to barricade the doors with," he barks before pelting down the stairs. The sound of his thundering footsteps reverberates through the stony passageway, almost drowning out the others' shouts of protest.

"Reiner, wait!" Bertholdt looks as if he cannot quite believe that Braun would do something so stupid. He of all people should know better though. This is precisely the sort of noble, thoughtless acts Braun commits to when presented with danger. The big ninny does not even consider the consequences before he rushes in headfirst. They hear a door slamming against a wall as Reiner throws it open, disappearing into the darkness below.

"Cinerus," she mutters. Her first instinct to sprint after him, but there is another voice inside her whispering that if he is to die anyway, why not let him get eaten? She hesitates.

"Shit, it's just like it was during our years in training. He's always the first to rush into danger. I don't get how he does it, I mean doesn't he care that he could die?" Connie says.

"It's a bad habit of his." Bertholdt looks absolutely livid.

Iris, now at the head of the group, sees the landing below and knows it is time to make a decision. She descends the last step and looks around wildly for something to use as a weapon. Bertholdt, evidently thinking the same thing, rushes across the circular room and pulls a pitchfork from amongst the rubble. They hear a loud bang from the floor below as Reiner slams the door to the lower floor shut, followed by a pressing silence. Just as she thinks it might be safe to breathe again Iris hears a loud 'crack' like something solid has just been split open, followed by the sharp, startling sound of splintering wood. She meets Bertholdt's eye.

"Hurry."

Bertholdt sprints through the door and down the stairs clutching the pitchfork in his hands. Another loud crack echoes through the tower, followed by a terrible silence that is broken only by the sound of Bertholdt's running steps. Reiner makes no sound at all. Iris' eyes find a large shape hidden underneath a disintegrating piece of cloth. She runs to it and yanks the sheet aside, exposing an ancient looking cannon.

"Connie, Ymir, help me with this." Iris realises that Ymir is already at her side. Together they push the cannon out of its corner, and as Connie joins them Krista holds the torch above their heads, illuminating the way ahead. Slowly, the aged cannon rumbles and clatters across the floor towards the doorway. It is larger than she had thought at first. What if it will not fit through the door? They could end up stuck in the doorway, helpless and forced to listen as the titans begin to feast on Reiner and Bertholdt. But wait, they are titan vessels - They would not let themselves be eaten. With one of them being the colossal titan they would decimate this entire building when transforming at that. She must not let it-

The cannon fits through the doorway. Below she sees the two infiltrators putting all their weight on the pitchfork Bertholdt had brought, digging its pointed tips deep into the face of a titan hanging halfway through the doorway. It struggles to climb over the splintered remnants of the door, seemingly oblivious or uncaring of their shared efforts to keep it out.

"Reiner, Bertholdt!" they scream together. Reiner and Bertholdt's heads turn looking to the top of the stairs.

"Powder shells?" Reiner says.

"Not enough of it. Move out of the way on 'three' - One, two, three!"

With a great heave they shove the cannon forwards over the threshold. As if taking on a life of its own it seems to leap from their hands, and the sound as is thunders down the stairs is deafening. Down below Reiner and Bertholdt throw themselves out of the way just before the cannon comes crashing into the titan, turning what remained of the door to kindling.

"Take that!" Connie cheers.

The titan lies in the pile of rubble on its back, pinned underneath the massive cannon. Judging from what it looks like right now, it will not be getting up again.

"Looks like it worked," Bertholdt says. He sounds strangely calm.

"Yeah, it can't get out from under that. Not at that size," Reiner replies, the same steely calm reflected in his voice. Neither of them sounds like someone who had just been moments away from getting eaten. They exchange a look like two people sharing a great secret.

"I have a knife, should I try to cut its neck?" Connie wonders aloud.

"Don't bother," Reiner says, wiping sweat from his brow.

"We should make our way back upstairs, more than one might have made it inside," Iris says, ushering Krista forward.

Bertholdt, having picked up the torch Reiner had dropped, seems to be searching for something along the wall. Iris is halfway up the stairs, listening to the scuffle of their boots against the steps when she realises that something feels wrong. It feels like looking down a darkened alleyway, knowing there might be someone standing there in the dark, only an arm's length away. Not stopping to question this feeling she turns on her heel, and looks down at the room below. Connie has his back to the stone archway, still holding the knife in his hand. A hand comes reaching out of the mirk behind him and grabs hold of the doorway, followed by a hunching body and a hungry, snarling face. It looks down at Connie with an angry scowl, seeming to take him in for a moment. Then it heaves itself forward. Iris hears herself scream.

"Connie!"

Its teeth are inches away from Connie's face when Reiner bulls into it from the side. He shoves its massive face out of the way with a roar. It stumbles one step to the side before regaining its balance, and as its gaze slips from Connie to fix on Reiner he raises his forearm and shoves it into the titan's mouth. Iris screams uselessly, and the echo of her voice mingles with the others' loud voices. Reiner roars as he heaves the titan onto his back, his muscles straining, eyes blazing with mad determination as he begins to climb the stairs with the titan hanging across his shoulders like a sack of turnips.

"What are you doing?" she hears herself saying, as he conquers step by careful step, slowly making his way towards the gaping window halfway up the stairs. "You better not be planning to throw yourself from there!" Why is she arguing against this?

He puts his head up for a moment, giving her a noble, and rather apologetic look. "It's the only way." He takes another two steps and reaches the window, heaving himself and the titan's body into the opening.

"Wait!" Connie screams, pushing Iris back as he rushes past her, brandishing the knife. "I'll cut through its jaw muscles," he says, carving at the flesh on the titan's left cheek. Blood oozes, steam rises, and just as it does not seem to be working the jaw relaxes. Reiner stumbles to the side, clutching his injured arm.

The titan pauses ponderously before it straightens itself and begins to climb back inside. Iris catches Ymir's eye, and together they rush to the titan and grabs onto its ankles, heaving it out the window. It falls without uttering a single sound, and the din of battle swallows whatever noise it makes as it hits the ground. Iris bends beside the groaning Reiner and grabs onto his collar, yanking him up. She hears a popping sound as a couple of the buttons on his shirt are torn off.

"Get up," she growls. Looking confused and somewhat taken aback he gets to his feet and allows her to push him ahead of her up the stairs. "Retreat, now!"

The others barricade the door on the next floor while Iris grabs the Pink Pigeon rum from its place beside the fire. Bottle now in hand she pushes Reiner up another flight of stairs.

"Sit," she says, pointing to the spot where someone has left a candle burning on the stone floor. He does not argue, and she sees that his eyes are glazed with pain. She unties the leather band keeping her braided hair together and bends beside him. The bite bleeds profusely. Understanding what she intends to do he holds his arm out, and she winds the band tight around it, tying it into a knot.

"Stay still for now," she says. He takes her arm just as she is about to stand back up.

"I didn't have a choice," he says. She is not sure which of them he is trying to convince.

"There is always a choice." She pulls her arm free, stands and turns her back to him.

Iris, Ymir and Connie work together to barricade the door as best they can, knowing that it will only withstand so much. When they are done they turn to see Krista kneeling beside Reiner, inspecting his wound with a troubled look.

"I think it might be fractured," she says despairingly.

"Before you splint it, pour some of that on the wound," Iris says to Krista, nodding to the bottle of rum.

"Alcohol? Why?"

"Inflammation of a wound is caused by infected tissue. Alcohol helps ward off infection." Not to mention that pouring impure, undiluted alcohol into an open wound is a rather painful experience. "Trust me," she says at Krista's doubtful expression.

Reiner's face turns ashen and he groans loudly as Krista splashes rum onto the bite. Trembling, he grits his teeth so hard Iris could swear she hears the sound of them grinding together. Krista apologises profusely but does not stop pouring until Iris nods. She makes sure Reiner suffers a good long minute before giving the signal. Once done with that Krista rises to her feet and to tear a long strip of cloth from her skirt. The boys all gawp at her, collectively unable to hide their looks of fascination at the sight of her naked knees and calves. Ymir's face darkens noticeably at this, and she looks as though she restrains herself from stepping in front of Krista in an attempt to hide her from public view.

"Sorry, all I have is this dirty cloth," Krista says with a troubled frown. She winds it around Reiner's muscled forearm and ties it behind his neck to form a sling.

"Don't be, I'm grateful," he says, looking down at his injured arm.

"Are you okay Reiner?" Connie asks.

"Yeah... I guess."

"Hey Krista, I got a pretty big splinter. Maybe you could take a look at it," Ymir says waving her finger in front of her.

"So what?" Connie says. "Just spit on it... Reiner, I'm sorry for what happened down there. It's like you're always end up needing to save my ass. Now that I think of it, Annie saved me too once... I really need to repay the both of you someday."

"It was my duty. We're soldiers."

"Yeah but... I'm not sure I could risk my life the way you just did. You never even hesitated."

Iris feels her lip curl. Perhaps the stupid lout wants to die a martyr's death.

"Hey Bertholdt," Connie continues. "Has Reiner always been like this?"

With the outmost severity, Bertholdt answers: "Like this? No... Reiner used to be a warrior. He is different now."

There is it again, "warrior". It  _must_  be their designation after all. Just as she concludes this however, Reiner looks at Bert as though his friend has started speaking in tongues.

"Warrior?" he says, blinking stupidly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

This response makes Bertholdt look very troubled. Iris finds herself glancing between them, understanding dawning on her slowly.

"Anyway," Ymir says loudly, taking everyone's eyes off Reiner. "Let's gather up some of this crap so we can die with no regrets later. Of course, our lives mostly depend on how well these guys are doing." She hops up into the open window and peers out. "Woah. That's the Survey Corps for you, none better."

Taking this to mean that the officers are doing well in defeating the titans outside, Iris moves to Reiner's side. He looks silently from her to Bertholdt, and then back to her again. How long since he started finding himself in places without memories of how he got there? How long since people began to make references to conversations he cannot remember having? She feels her face soften. Sighing softly, she holds her hand out to him in an offer to help him up.

"You're not going to hit me, are you? I'm injured already," he says half-jokingly, giving her outstretched hand a hesitant look.

"Of course not."

"You sure? It looked like you were seriously thinking about it earlier."

"Why would you do something so reckless to save Connie?"

For some inexplicable reason, the question makes him smile somewhat triumphantly.

"You were worried," he says as though it is something good, taking her hand before she has a chance to retract it. She pulls him to his feet, seeing his hypocritical grimace of pain as his injured arm twinges. Still holding on to her hand, he looks down at his injured arm with a strange expression... Like he is questioning how he ended up this way.

"Is your life worth nothing to you? What of your vow to return home?"

Ignoring the hint of accusation in her voice, he says: "I'm fine, aren't I? Some things are worth risking your life for." He flashes a winning smile, as though she is a fickle-natured committee he hopes to win over. She pulls her hand from his grip.

"I do not have time for this."

Before she has the chance to do anything she hears a loud 'crack' from outside, as though something heavy has just come crashing to the ground.

"What the hell?" Ymir says. "Looks like something just fell from the sky and landed in the courtyard, but I can't see what."

Everyone turns to look at each other silently. Then, as if on a given signal they all hurry towards the stairs to the roof. They are halfway up when the tower suddenly heaves to the side as if it has been struck by a massive force, and the thundering 'boom' as stone meets stone drowns out all other sounds. The walls around them shiver, raining splinters and mortar down upon their heads, and the stones beneath their feet shift dangerously. Slowly, the echoes die out and give way to a deafening silence. Wide-eyed, Connie turns to them and nods his head almost unnoticeably before resuming the climb upwards. Iris hurries after him, feeling certain that something up there must have gone terribly wrong.

Iris looks around wildly as she reaches the top. A large portion of the parapet is now missing, parts of the floor having collapsed where whatever hit them had struck. Just beside the hole lies what are now the remains of Lynne and Henning. Gelgar and Nanaba are both kneeling beside the fallen comrades, who both look to have been killed by the incoming projectile.

"Careful recruits. A boulder came from somewhere over there, close to the wall. It... it's what got them," Gelgar says numbly, gently laying Lynne's hand back at her side.

From somewhere behind Iris, Connie says: "It must have been that thing - That beast titan I saw walking towards the wall earlier."

She turns around and looks to where Connie is pointing, but if Reiner and Bertholdt's hairy friend is still there, Iris cannot see him. She blinks tiredly as the dark trees appear to be swaying softly. Next to her, Connie gasps.

"Multiple titans approaching, more than twice as many as before!"

For a moment she thinks he might be mistaken, but then she sees several fifteen-metre titans advancing through the forest, pushing the treetops aside like they were wading through shrubbery. Smaller titans weave back and forth between their thumping feet, scurrying towards the ruined castle with surprising speed. Maybe it is just her imagination, but she thinks the titan's faces have an apologetic look to them, as if they too regret to be here.

"Shit... it's almost like there's some strategy to it." Nanaba rises to her feet. "Like they've been toying with us from the start."

A roar echoes in the distance, and as if on a given signal the approaching titans break into a run. They charge forward; the giant mass of flesh moving as though it is one organism. They crash headfirst into the tower, making the whole structure creak and tremble. Gelgar utters a foul curse.

"Stay here!" he orders them, as if they have any choice in it, and he and Nanaba leaps up and throws themselves from the parapets.

"What do we do?" Connie says as the sounds of the battle below drifts to them in ghostly echoes. He turns to them. "Guys, what do we do?"

"Just what do you imagine we can do?" Ymir says derisively.

Connie does not seem to have an answer to this. They watch the two Survey Corps soldier fell one titan after the other in silence. One of the fifteen-metres digs its hands into the side of the tower like a burrowing ferret. They hear the sound of stone being torn free of its mortar and sent crashing down upon the ground below. Nanaba kills the titan a second later and its massive body collapses sideways, crashing into the adjoining watchtower and collapsing the smaller structure. It tears free of the main tower and crumples with a deafening rumble. More of the titans attack the tower as if someone has ordered them to bring it down, and there are so many of them. Gelgar and Nanaba must be out of supplies soon.

Iris watches Bertholdt's side-profile, wondering what passes through his head. Does he know why this is happening? He looks deeply troubled, which makes her think this is no happy reunion. This whole situation might be intended as a reminder, or as a warning. She hears a scream and sees a ten-metre titan pulling a bloody Gelgar from a hole in the tower's side. He brandishes the empty rum bottle and wails despairingly as the titan raises him towards its open mouth. She turns her face away.

"Shit... they got him," Connie says and slumps on his knees.

Krista lets out a loud, furious scream and begins to pelt the titans with rocks. Ymir grabs the back of her collar, holding her back.

"Stop, Krista. This whole tower's coming apart, you might fall."

Krista struggles against her grip. "But Gelgar, Nanaba, they sacrificed themselves for us."

"It was their duty. Do you think throwing rocks or muttering curses will bring them back?" Iris says, seeing Krista turn to give her a wounded look. "What good are useless gestures to them, or to us?"

Connie stares dazedly ahead of him in what looks like utter disbelief. "So we just sit here and wait for the tower to collapse? Can't we do something? Damn it I... I don't want to get eaten. Isn't there anything we can do?" He slams his fist against the parapet, cursing over and over again.

Reiner looks dumbfounded, as if he cannot quite believe this is all happening. It is really quite pathetic; that confused, sad look on his face. She could do it now, starting with Bertholdt. Even if he is not distracted, Reiner might be too deep in his own delusion to realise the severity of the situation before it is too late. Or the shock would snap him out of it, which would be very bad. Besides... she would rather not see his face as she does it.

"I want to fight like they did, if only I had a weapon," Krista says. "Then I could die fighting too." She balls her little hands into fists.

Ymir turns and towers over her, face grim as death. "You still going on about shit like that? Don't  _use_ their deaths to suit your purposes, because you're nothing like them, or like Connie. They didn't do what they did so you would have an excuse to turn yourself into a martyr. They didn't want to die, but you're not like that! You want to go out in a blaze of glory so everyone will see just what a  _good girl_  you are, right?!"

Krista looks appalled at the suggestion, but also deeply offended. "No! That is not what I-"

Ymir grabs Krista by shoulders, holding her firmly in place. "Krista, maybe you don't remember this, but as this is probably the end, please try to remember. You made me a promise that time we trained on the snowy mountain, right? Remember our deal."

At that moment the sun peeks out above the horizon, showering the top of the tower in pale morning light. Ymir straightens and gives it one look before she turns to Connie.

"Hey Connie, lend me your knife, won't you?"

"Sure... what do you need it for?"

She gives his head a fond pat, giving him an uncharacteristically soft look. "As a weapon. I'm going to fight." She turns her back to him.

Reiner flinches as if he has suddenly remembered something important. He looks wildly at Ymir like he is seeing her for the first time. With a start, Iris too realises what is about to happen.

"Ymir, what are you planning to do?" Reiner says, sounding clearly alarmed by this new development.

She shrugs. "Who knows? I barely even know myself." Her eyes travel to the parapet, the cocky grin firmly in place on her face.

"Ymir," Iris says, holding her hand out. "Don't!"

Her cool grey eyes come to rest on Iris. "No heartfelt goodbyes, Bachmann," she says.

Without a look back she sprints forward, leaping over the battlements and into the open air. The blade catches the light as she brandishes it, and bright shards of light fly through the air like sparks. Blinding white light flares from her like an aura until she glows like a tiny sun, and with a loud, strange sound she transforms. A whole other body appears where Ymir's narrow form had been falling only a moment ago; a long-limbed, strangely squat titan with sharp, protruding teeth. Krista screams wordlessly as she leans too far out across the edge, and absent-mindedly Reiner catches her and hauls her back inside while staring at Ymir's titan as though he sees a ghost. Iris takes two steps back, hearing her comrades talk amongst themselves in low, shocked voices. Below, Ymir's titan roars as it rips into its adversaries.

This is it. Time to end it, once and for all. Her trembling hands fumble with her pocket. Her fingers find the leather holster, searching for the grip. After what feels like a very long time, she finds it and pulls the pistol out. Beside the parapet Reiner and Bertholdt are talking amongst themselves. They lean out over the edge, peering down at Ymir. Iris takes aim, pointing the muzzle at Reiner's neck before she cocks the hammer. The shot needs to perforate the neck at precisely the right spot. Her mouth is doing some strange, twitchy movement, but her hand remains steady. Kill the wrong man and they call it murder. Kill a hundred men under the flag of war they call it heroism. She curves her finger around the trigger, squeezing gently.

Just do it. It is the only way to complete the mission. The Research Team needs more time to awaken Grandfather, and she will be the one to give it to them. What are three lives compared to the fate of an entire race? The time has come for Iris Bachmann to commit an act of heroism. She will do all Julian never could, become all he never was; outdo him in every single way possible. She stares down the short barrel at Reiner's broad neck, hearing him say that he never suspected Ymir might have been a titan-shifter - Which seems rather naïve, all things considered.

" _Like they are children playing war games, pretending to understand what it all means."_

One final, firm squeeze is all it takes. Her breathing is deep and slow, the muzzle steadily pointed at its intended target. Funny, she had thought it would be difficult to do it, but it is really rather easy. You could almost do it by accident. It seems wrong that something so irreversible could be done so easily. Is that how they find themselves in this situation today; because it was so easy to commit to war, and so impossible to undo it once it started? That is what it all comes down to, is it not? Do this thing, and she can never take it back. The war will go on, indifferent to the deaths of another three young soldiers. Iris lowers the gun. She decocks the hammer carefully and puts the pistol back in its holster inside her pocket.

She feels a tremor through her feet, and hears Ymir's titan roar. Do titans' bodies feel pain? Krista gasps, and he four of them by the parapet lean even further forward.

"She let go?" Connie says, his voice rising into a slightly girlish register. "Why would she do that? Unless... Do you think she's worried about damaging the tower?"

"That must be it. Oh, Ymir..."

Iris hurries up to the battlements and leans out, taking in the scene below. Ymir's small titan is struggling in a sea of flesh, countless hands grabbing at her hoping to find purchase. She sees blood spurting as teeth close on Ymir's shoulder, taking a chunk out of her small, sinewy body.

Iris opens her mouth and screams: "Ymir, survive! Do anything you have to!"

"Yeah, if the tower's going to fall anyway just bring it down!" Krista shouts.

Ymir hesitates another moment, but when a large mouth clamps down on one of her calves she rips one of the stone bricks free and smashes it into the titan's gleeful face. She starts pelting the surrounding titans with stone and mortar until the tower begins to tremble beneath their feet. They hear a cracking from somewhere deep within its bowels, and the whole structure starts to tilt sideways. Reiner looks around wildly.

"She's actually bringing it down?" he says, stepping sideways as he struggles to keep his balance.

"Don't worry, she's got a plan, right Iris?" Krista says happily.

"Yes, she does."

Smiling madly Krista climbs onto the parapet and throws her arms up, cheering. Bertholdt and Connie steady themselves against the battlements as the tower groans and begins to topple. Reiner loses his balance and is about to fall when Iris grabs hold of his good arm and steadies him. Ymir's massive head suddenly pops up over the edge. Her eyes are large and black and the mouth twisted in a perpetual snarl, exposing both rows of sharp, glimmering teeth. Krista lets out a startled yip, her arms flapping to her sides. Ymir's jaws part slightly.

"Get... on" she says in a garbled croak, just as a deafening crack echoes across the valley.

They scrabble onto her like mice off a sinking ship, burrowing into her hair at the back of her neck as Ymir scrambles topside on the falling tower. Iris winds Ymir's course strands of hair around her hands and holds on for dear life as they all come crashing down together. The air howls in her ears and the sound of crumbing stone is loud as thunder. With a jarring jolt they smash against the ground, and the back of Ymir's head knocks the breath from Iris' lungs. The sunlight suddenly seems very bright... almost too bright. She blinks repeatedly as tears threaten to flood her eyes. Still gasping for air she lets go of Ymir's hair, letting herself slide to the ground. She pats the side of Ymir's neck in mute gratitude. Krista slides down beside her and then runs around to gaze adoringly at Ymir's titan's face.

"Ymir," she whispers softly.

"I can't believe I'm alive. That was one hell of a crazy plan Ymir," Connie says disbelievingly, looking at his hands as if to make sure they're still there.

Reiner comes to Iris' side, holding his hand out to her. She takes it and allows him to pull her up. Ymir's titan straightens and gives them all a look as if to say "stay here" before she moves towards the heaps of fallen stones. Krista moves as though to follow her.

"Stay here until we know if it is safe, Krista," Iris hears herself say.

Krista stops, looking worried. Ymir climbs over a mound of stones and looks around. Someone gasps as the stones beneath Ymir's feet shift. A moment later titans come clambering out from underneath the debris like ants out of anthill. They converge on Ymir, several ten-metres' grabbing hold of her and tearing at her as if she is a toy they squabble over. Krista screams and starts running as they sink their teeth into Ymir's flesh. Someone grabs hold of Iris arm, shoving her backwards.

"Get behind me," Reiner says grimly. "If I tell you to run, you run. At least ten metres back, got it?"'

She stares disbelievingly at him. Surely he cannot mean-

But she never finds out what he means. At that moment a soldier comes shooting forward, killing the titan bearing down on Krista with one single stroke. Mikasa Ackermann lands on top of the rubble, inspecting them all coolly.

"Mikasa? What are you-" Connie begins jubilantly, but Mikasa cuts him off.

"Krista, get back. The rest of you too. We will take care of this."

More soldiers appear as they retreat backwards. Two or more squads come charging in, shouting as they leap from their horses and into the air. One by one the titans begin fall to the ground. With a sinking feeling Iris sees someone who might be Eren take down a titan. It would have been better if he had not come. She frowns, wondering if they have rescued Ymir yet.

"She'll be okay," Reiner says and lays a hand upon Iris' shoulder. She nods mutely, wondering if any of them will be okay at the end of this.


	20. Farewell Comrade

"Your name is Historia Reiss, daughter to the true king?"

"Yes."

"Did Ymir know all along?" Iris looks down at Ymir's strangely serene face. The blankets are tucked tight around her, but from underneath her wrappings Iris sees the steam rising from her wounds. There is so little of it though, nothing but a slow trickle.

"She wanted me to reclaim my name and to live as myself, but I never really understood why." Krista's... no, Historia's hand rests against Ymir's forehead. Over the general bustle of activity around the ruin Iris hears the sound of horses' hooves as the scouts return, reporting no titan activity in the nearby area.

"It is on account of your happiness, surely."

"But what does my name have to do with it? Only bad things ever happened because of it. The man in the coat even wanted to hurt me just for having it."

The man in the coat? It could mean almost anyone of course, but that description sounds an awful lot like the king's mad dog, Kenny Ackermann. Some say his entering into the crown's service was an improvement on his character, but others seem to think the kingdom was a safer pace back when the Ackermann prowled the underground city under the name of "Kenny the Ripper".

"The man in the coat – Do you know his name?"

Krista glances at her curiously. "No, but he was old and very tall, and when he... killed my mother I thought he looked annoyed, like he was angry he even had to be there. Why, do you know about someone like that?"

Iris avoids Krista's gaze. "Not really. How did you get away from him?"

"Lord Reiss saved me. He made a deal with the man and gave me a new name."

So the king had not wanted his bastard dead. It explains why Historia had not been sent away or disposed of as a baby. But it does not explain why a man fitting Kenny Ackermann's description had killed the king's mistress and attempted to kill his bastard against his will. Has the mad dog turned on its master?

"He took your identity and asked you to be someone else, you mean."

"I guess. But I still don't see why it matters so much."

Iris puts her hand on Ymir's leg, feeling her knobbly knee through the blankets. Her other thigh ends in a smoking stump, and she had been willing to give that and more to save Krista. People will ask why she never said anything. Seeing things from their point of view it must look like she had every opportunity to help mankind, but chose not to. They will not understand or care that Ymir does not owe them her allegiance.

"It is an outrage, a travesty if you ask me."

Iris pats Ymir's leg one more time and then straightens. The bodies of Lynne and Henning, as well as the salvageable parts of Gelgar and Nanaba have been wrapped in thick cloths and are now being loaded onto a second wagon. Several people will have to ride tandem to the wall, as the group had not brought any spare horses with them. Hange Zöe stands at the centre of the gathering. She murmurs something to her assistant, Moblit, and then glances between the little group of recruits from the 104th.

"Alright, I think we're ready to move out. What to do with you now, let's see." She gives them a look as though trying to pair them together.

"Captain, I request to ride with Braun as he is injured," Iris says.

Hange scratches her head. "Braun, which one's that again? Ah, there! Well then, as you wish." Iris sees Armin and Hange exchange a meaningful look, and Armin's chin dips almost imperceptibly.

She watches Historia argue her way into riding in the carriage with Ymir, against what seems to be just about everyone's better judgement. Having just learned that she is of royal descent however, no one seems too keen to flat out refuse her, upon which she simply climbs onto the carriage and refuses to move henceforth.

"Smooth," Braun says into Iris' ear. She turns and sees him holding the lead of a sturdy bay horse.

"Smooth?" she says, somewhat mystified.

"Yeah just listen to you: 'Braun's injured'," he chuckles. "Couldn't just admit that you wanted to ride with me, could you?"

"You  _are_ injured" she argues.

"Mhm." He gives her an infuriatingly knowing smile. "Mind giving me a boost?"

He grimaces as he bumps his arm while climbing into the saddle. Not without a small amount of fascination, she wonders if he is consciously keeping his arm from healing, or if his soldier persona simply cannot heal because it is human and nothing more. He clutches his elbow and moans quietly.

"Are you alright?" Silly question now that she thinks of it.

He forces a bleak expression of noble suffering onto his face. "Yeah, no problem at all, don't worry." A rather blatant lie, but if he has the energy to act gallant she thinks he might not be too bad off. Taking hold of the cantle she pushes herself off the ground and up onto the horse behind him. He is too tall for her to actually see anything in front of them, and too broad-shouldered for her to see much to either side. She puts her arms around him and opens her hands expectantly.

"Pass me the reins please. I must request that you act as my eyes from here on."

He puts the reins into her hands. "Perhaps you should be in front of me? I didn't really think about the height issue."

"It would pain you and might do further injury to your arm. I do not need to see the path as the horse will follow the others for the most part."

"Alright, might be better this way... don't like riding without stirrups anyway."

She is about to ask why, but decides she better not. They trot a large circle around the gathering group of soldiers and horses in order to get a feel for riding tandem, and Iris could swear she hears Reiner grit his teeth with every jolt of the saddle. Once everyone has mounted they set off. It will not take long to cross the two kilometres of wooded terrain to the wall.

"Hey," Reiner says in front of her, like he has only just realised something. "Where's Jean? I thought he'd be with Eren."

"They would have told us if something had happened to him," she says, even though she is far from certain that it is true.

The trees shrouding the path ahead of them are tall and silent, pressing in on all sides. Moss and leaves muffle the sounds of their horses' hooves, and the cart seems to be almost gliding along behind them. Somewhere above their heads a flock of ravens caw raucously, drowning out the murmur of whispered conversation. Iris takes both reins in one hand and puts her free arm around Reiner's midriff, resting her head against his back.

"Are you feeling me up, Bachmann?"

She feels herself smile. "I am certainly not."

"You sure? Because you know, I'd be pretty alright with that," he says smugly.

She buries her face in his shirt, breathes in his smell - Tries to commit it to memory. "Is this truly a time for jest?"

"At the rate I'm going I better tell all my dirty jokes now."

Iris tightens her grip around him. "Are you familiar with the term 'in poor taste'?"

"It's what people like you call people like me, right?"

"Close enough," she says dryly. "... Do not worry about your arm, it will heal soon."

"Ah, I'm not worried. I mean we've been going for a day and a half, and since there doesn't seem to be any breach they'll have to let us rest soon. I'm thinking there might even be a promotion down the line for some of us, since there's bound to be a few positions open by now."

"Mm," she murmurs noncommittally, and under the pretence of stretching her back she releases her hold of him. Her fingers move to her vest pocket, plucking at its contents. "Reiner?"

Something in her tone makes him crane his neck around in an attempt to look at her over his shoulder. As he does this, she moves her hand to his leg and slips a silver cigarette case into his left pocket. She rests her hand on his thigh.

"What?" he asks.

"Do you suppose there is any chance they might let Ymir go?" She balls her hand into a fist.

"I don't think so. I mean, would you? Even if she agrees to fight for us now it might be hard for people to trust her. Can't imagine what she's been thinking, keeping something like that to herself all this time."

"No, of course not," she says, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm from her voice. He releases his hold on the horse's mane and puts his large hand over hers.

"Sorry, I know she's your friend and all... Who knows, she might have had her reasons for doing all these things."

They halt their horses at the foot of the wall, and a few of Squad Hange's members carrying thick lengths of rope leap from their saddles and begin to climb towards the precipice. They will need to haul Ymir's stretcher to the top. Iris supposes that she too will be hauled like some piece of misbegotten cargo. She slides from the horse's back and hears a soft thud as her feet hit the ground. A few metres away Armin and Captain Hange confer with their heads close together, their attentions turned to the map Captain Hange has unrolled and is now holding up. Around her the soldiers are all doing their very best to appear preoccupied with what they are doing, though no one is doing much of anything. She sees Bertholdt approach her cautiously, his tentative eyes flickering between the gathered soldiers.

"They must be worried there are still titans around," he says as he halts beside her.

"It certainly looks like it." She sees the shapes of two soldiers on the edge of the wall above, using their gears to lower two entrapments resembling seats towards the ground.

Bertholdt leans a little closer, lowering his voice. "How is he doing?" His throat bobs up and down anxiously.

"Reiner?" She looks to her left, where a few metres away Reiner is attempting to convince the horse to remain still while he climbs off. He does not quite seem to be able to get his foot over the horse's neck without it taking the opportunity to wander. Someone really ought to help him.

"Yeah, he hasn't been... talking strange or something like that?" Bertholdt asks anxiously.

"Not at all," she says, and sees the look of relief on Bertholdt's face.

"Ah, good. I think they're ready for us now." He motions towards the lowered wooden seats. "Go ahead - I'll help him off the horse."

Iris climbs onto the seat and allows herself to be hoisted some fifty meters into the air, trying very hard not to look down as she goes. She reaches the top, grateful to feel the firm stone beneath her feet once more. The wind carries the scent of grass, dirt and fir, and it tugs at her hair, whipping it across her face as she gazes out across the plains. Somewhere out there the hairy titan's vessel lurks. She turns around and gazes down upon the ruins of Utgard Castle, or rather, the pile of rubble where Utgard Castle had once stood. Bertholdt heaves himself over the edge to her right. He gets to his feet and brushes the dirt from his clothes, his eyes darting around like those of a startled rabbit. She looks around and sees Eren dragging Armin across the edge to her left. Moments later she sees Reiner's hand shoot up, his fingers searching for something to grab on to so that he might pull himself up.

"Allow me, she says, holding her hand out to him. He takes it.

"Thanks."

Putting all her weight and every ounce of strength she possesses into pulling him up, she briefly considers whether or not this had been a mistake. With a grunt he manages to get one foot up, and with the assistance of another member of Squad Hange they succeed in hauling him up without doing injury to his arm. He slumps down, breathing hard.

"Forgot how heavy I am, sorry," he says rather sheepishly.

"Hey Reiner, what happened to your arm?" Eren approaches to their left, eyeing Historia's improvised sling curiously. Iris sees Armin hovering behind him, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"A titan chomped down on it. Really thought I might bite the dust this time, I mean, what're the chances I'd escape another time?" Reiner gives Iris an apologetic look, as if by admitting this much he has allowed her to catch him in a lie.

Eren looks completely nonplussed hearing this, but Armin considers a moment and then blinks. "Ah," he says slowly. "You mean  _that_  time." Luckily for them, Reiner is too busy with his own thoughts to notice anything strange about this reaction.

"I mean it's no joke really. I need to start using my head, or I will not be around for much longer at this rate... Being a soldier really isn't what I thought it would be. I know I chose this for myself, but I never thought it would wear on your mind before your body, you know?" He sighs.

Iris feels Bertholdt step in close beside her. On the ground, Reiner makes a sweeping motion with his good hand.

"Guess this is not the time to sit around complaining. We've got a hole to plug, right?"

Nodding, Armin turns and heads towards the spot where Hange and her underlings are gathered in a tight circle, looking down at something.

"Yeah, with everything that's going on I guess you guys just keep getting pulled further and further away from your hometown. We need to plug that hole and stop that from happening," Eren says, turning around to follow Armin. Reiner frowns, looking as though he is trying very hard to remember something. Bertholdt sucks in a sharp breath and suspecting what he is about to do Iris sizes him by the arm, but he immediately shakes her off.

"That's right Reiner, let's go home! It's not far and we've been through so much already, why should we wait?"

Eren and Armin both stop moving. Reiner's frown deepens, and he looks from Bertholdt to Iris as if hoping she might provide him with some further clarification. She takes in Bertholdt's despairing expression.

"Are you sure that you are alright Bertholdt?" she says, glancing to Reiner out of the corner of her eye.

"Yeah, Bertholdt. What're you talking about?" Eren says gravely. Bertholdt's shoulders sink a little.

"I just thought-" he begins when someone behind them cries out, interrupting him.

"Mister Hannes," Mikasa calls. Someone must have just arrived at the foot of the wall. Eren and Armin give Bertholdt one last look before they go to join Squad Hange. Iris hears the soldier Mikasa had addressed as "Mister Hannes" report that no team has been able to detect any breach in Wall Rose. The news is met by a discordant babble of voices, as several people begin to shower him with questions right away.

Iris ignores the commotion behind them and bends before Reiner. She puts her hand on his firm shoulder, squeezing gently, and with her mouth close to his ear she says: "Reiner - You are a warrior, remember?" She straightens and looks into his face, placing her palm against his cheek. She feels the line of his sharp jawbone through the thin skin. The muscles in his jaw work underneath her fingers as he looks into her face, his expression unfathomable.

"They know who you are. Armin found Annie, and through her they found you too. You are a warrior, and now you must go home."

For a moment he simply stares at her as if he has not understood a word of what she is saying. Then his face crumples. His shoulders sink even lower, brows knitting into an expression of pain. She begins to back away from him, hand falling limply to her side. Smoke begins to ooze from his injured arm as the titan vessel's healing capabilities set to work. He rises slowly to his feet.

Bertholdt gawps at her. "Iris wh- what are you saying?!"

"Shut up Bert," Reiner says in a dead, flat voice. He covers his face with his hand. "Just shut up for a moment. Everyone keeps talking, but what the hell they're even saying, I don't- ... Shit, I think I'm losing my mind." His hand falls from his face, and she retreats another step.

"Sending Annie was a mistake," she says. Her voice trembles. "Not all of us were told Eren's location would be on the right flank."

Reiner shakes his head, gritting his teeth so hard the tendons on his neck stand out. "Just what else was I supposed to do?! I had to do something didn't I? We've been here too long, surrounded by idiots, getting weaker and more pathetic with each year that passes," he says bitterly, holding his hand out as if to seize hold of her, but she is out of his reach.

"We were just kids who didn't know anything, you get that? ... I wish I'd never heard this damned place existed... If I hadn't come here I wouldn't have turned into this half-hearted piece of shit. I don't even know what's right anymore, and I don't know whose fault it is; yours or mine... But in the end I guess it doesn't matter. All our actions have consequences, and now I have to face mine."

He grabs the piece of cloth Historia had tied into a sling and lifts it over his head. His arm is enveloped in a thick cloud of steam as he unwinds the bandages. He holds the arm up to his face, brandishing it as though it is a blade.

"Are we doing it?" Bertholdt says shrilly, more anxious than eager. "Are you sure?!"

"Yeah, we fight here, right now. We'll end this once and for all."

Reiner looks right at her. There are tears of pain, anger, or perhaps regret in his eyes. He grits his teeth, gaze siding over her shoulder to where what sounds like two people are approaching from behind. She hears Eren make some kind of exclamation. Judging from the sound of their steps they keep coming towards her.

"Iris," Reiner says flatly. "Run."

She sees the strange light flooding his eyes, and wondering if it is not already too late to get away, she turns and runs. Five steps ahead of her she sees Armin and Eren headed towards them with looks of alarm on their faces, and without stopping she snatches them by the collar and drags them along with her.

"They are the traitors, I heard them speaking of it! We have to get away!" She yanks at their clothes, and to her relief they stop struggling against her. Any moment now they will be hit by the blast wave, but Eren and Armin will be alright so long as they do not lose consciousness. She counts the seconds while they run.

" _When will it happen? Why has it not happened already?"_  And then, finally, she hears the strange hissing sound of air being forced aside as the titan's bodies take form. A moment later the rush of oncoming air blasts them off their feet and sends all three of them sprawling on their faces. She clings to Eren for dear life as the wind drags them forward towards the edge of the wall. Massive hands descend upon the two of them as they slide towards the edge. Huge fingers grip firmly around their two bodies, and their advancement towards the long drop is abruptly halted. She looks up into the armoured titan's face, sheltered underneath heavy plates of armour. It looks just like him. Even the colour of the eyes is the same. As easily as if they were two tiny ragdolls, Reiner's titan pulls Eren's arm and cape from her grip. She cries out, reaching for Eren like a baby reaching for its mother. Behind them the torso of the colossal titan clings to the wall by its ribs like some ancient god's strange hair ornament. Its mouth opens and it roars thunderously, and Iris feels herself being hoisted into the air by the armoured titan's massive fist. A second later she is blasted by a wave of hot air, and were it not for the titan's grip on her and Eren they would have been flung from the precipice. The heat seems to ooze from every inch of the colossal titan's massive torso. She sees soldiers and gurneys sent flying in a disarray of limbs and green cloth, and with her heart in her mouth she sees Ymir tossed into the air. A split second later the colossal whips its massive fist out and catches her.

The armoured titan's body shifts and begins to move towards the edge, but before Reiner slides across it, he turns the titan's large face towards her. She wonders if this is where she dies. Will there be no body parts strewn across the abandoned lands of Wall Maria? There is nothing but empty air below her kicking feet. All Reiner needs to do to end it, is to let go. She does not know why her feet are kicking, but they are. They twitch and stamp as if hoping they might tread thin air and carry her to safety. Will they keep kicking all the way down? How much will it hurt to hit the ground? The titan's hand raises her a little higher and she closes her eyes, waiting for the fingers to open. The hand keeps moving, each suspenseful heartbeat sounding louder in her ears than the one that came before it. Then the fingers open. She falls. A second later her feet hit something solid, sending her crashing to her knees. Her kneecaps collide with the hard stone with a loud 'crunch', and a cry of pain leaps from her mouth. Her eyes fly open just in time to see the armoured titan lurch across the edge with Eren still clutched in its other hand. No sooner than the top of its head has disappeared from view Iris sees a bright light which can only have come from one thing. A deafening roar makes the air around her vibrate.

"No," she whispers and half scrambles, half crawls towards the edge. This was not supposed to happen. She gets there just in time to see Eren's green eyed, snarling titan slam its massive fist into the armoured titan's face. A cloud of steam envelops them both and they hit the ground with a thunderous crash. Amidst the dust and smoke it is impossible to see what has become of them. Turning her head to the left she sees the colossal titan's back. It raises its free hand, arching it upwards in a massive swing before bringing it down upon the space where the soldiers were gathered with devastating force. The wall shudders upon impact, and the sound of crumbling stone is loud as cannon fire. Moments later she hears a light voice screaming Ymir's name over the din – Historia. She at least is still alive.

The colossal titan makes another sweeping motion with his hands, plucking something from amongst the wreckage before it raises its fists to its face, tossing something into its mouth – Tossing Ymir into its mouth. She hears someone who might be Captain Hange shout the order for all troops to attack, and knows that she is in the way. With one last anxious look below to where Eren and Reiner are now fighting each other in their titan forms, she climbs to her feet and jogs further away from Bertholdt, ignoring the pain in her knees. A couple of the soldiers cry out as they spot her moving away from the colossal, the sound of their voices barely audible over the hiss of extending wires. Then another gust of hot air slams into her back and sends her flying forward. The colossal titan roars as blazing heat is expelled from its body, and the soldiers find themselves forced to retreat.

Uselessly, she watches Reiner and Eren do battle below, with Mikasa circling around the armoured titan's head like an angry fly. Her blades cannot penetrate that armour and finally she stops trying. Somewhere on the other side of the colossal titan, a voice which might belong to Armin shouts instructions to Eren, which the latter seems to ignore. Getting up for the umpteenth time, steam rising from a face which could be called "mangled" at best, he attacks the armoured titan head-on once again. Only, this time something is different. He aims low, ducking beneath the armoured's raised fist and jumps back up to lock his arm around the armoured titan's neck. With a deafening 'boom' he flips Reiner's titan onto its back. They grapple, Eren now fighting with skill rather than rage, the battle drawing nearer and nearer to the wall. The armoured titan roars, and to her it sounds very much like a cry for help.

She notices the massive body of the colossal titan moving. It tilts sideways slowly, silently, as if not to give its intentions away in advance. When finally it falls, it does so with surprising speed. The smoke trails like a cloak behind it as it lurches sideways, diving headfirst, and as the massive body crashes towards the ground it opens its jaws. Iris finds herself staring at it with utter bewilderment. Not until it lands upon Eren's titan as well as Reiner's titan with a thundering 'crash' does she understand why it is all happening. Steam envelops them as the colossal titan's body evaporates, and through the smoke she sees the outline of the uninjured armoured titan. It bends down, its jaws working on something lying on the ground. The armoured titan straightens. Out of the smoke comes Bertholdt, now equipped with a set of maneuvering gear, carrying Ymir in his arms. She hears herself whimper softly as Bertholdt scales the armoured titan and lands on its shoulder. With surprising speed Reiner's titan turns and starts running, taking Bertholdt, Eren and Ymir with him. Still half sprawled on her hands and knees, Iris watches them shrink into the horizon. As the sounds of his titan's steps fade, silence settles upon the wall. Even the wind seems to abate as she stares in the direction they had disappeared to. Her knees ache upon the stony surface. She cannot stay like this. Forcing her heavy body to move once again she climbs to her feet and goes to join her comrades, now struggling to settle the injured and tend to their wounds.

Once reassured that none of the injured seem to be in a critical condition they work together to gather the dead, laying them out on a neat row. They strip them of their gear. The death toll comes to six, including the soldier Bertholdt had tossed into the colossal titan's mouth. Iris equips herself with a set of maneuvering gear and changes into a spare pair of trousers, and then goes to sit next to Armin and Connie. They watch over Mikasa's unconscious form. She had been dashed against the wall when the colossal titan fell, but her injuries do not appear to be severe. Captain Hannes had dispatched a rider to Trost immediately after the warriors made their escape, and all there is to do now, is wait.

"Iris," Armin says thoughtfully. "Forgive me for asking, but how are you alive? I thought I saw the armoured titan grab you and Eren both."

"I held onto Eren when they transformed. He... picked us up and pulled us apart."

Armin frowns. "He let you go...?"

"Doesn't it seem kinda off that he'd let you go if they're supposed to be traitors to mankind?" Connie says.

"Pray excuse me, but it does not strike me as strange at all. Their objective never seemed to be the death or mutilation of one person in particular, and though they have committed acts which have led to the death of countless people, it is another thing entirely to cause serious harm to someone you know," she snaps.

"No, I meant that I find this whole thing strange. I mean, how could the two of them, how could Reiner be our enemy?! I don't get why you seem so ready to just accept it when it makes no sense at all! He saved me at Utgard even though he didn't have to. Why would he do that if he wants to destroy the walls and kill us all?"

"I don't think those things matter Connie," Armin says. "It's not as easy as them being good or bad people. Reiner probably cares about us as comrades in some way, but that doesn't change the fact that he's been sent here to do something he sees as more important than all of this."

Thankful not to have been forced to formulate a reply such as this, Iris slips into silence. Later Krista comes to join her, and even later still, Mikasa wakes.

The hard clang of iron horseshoes against stone awakens Iris from her gloomy contemplations. People clamber noisily to their feet all around her, setting an example for her to follow by. She hears someone cry Commander Erwin's name, but her attentions are immediately turned to two other figures approaching behind him.

"Marco," she says, wondering how in the world he ended up in the company of Commander Erwin.

"Hey," he smiles. "Fancy seeing you again. Looked rather grim there for a while, didn't it."

"I was under the impression you went east?"

"I did, and when we found no breach I was dispatched to Trost with the news."

"Bachmann," Kirschtein says. He was the other figure she had spotted riding behind the commander, and for once he looks somewhat happy to see her. After minute hesitation, he puts a hand on her shoulder. "Glad to see you're alright."

"I am alive," she replies, since claiming to be "alright" really is stretching it too far, "and quite relieved to find you in good health."

He frowns. "Why?"

"Because I suspected you might have been made a part of an attempt to capture the female titan," she replies quietly, seeing his eyes widen slightly.

"Shh, the rest of you aren't supposed to know about that yet," he hisses. "Don't go getting me into trouble by making people think I can't keep my trap shut."

Someone shouts an order for the lifts to be mounted and the horses to be lowered. At almost precisely the same moment, Captain Hange wakes from her unconscious state. Asking their attention, she has someone bring her a map on which she points out the route she believes the two warriors will take to Wall Maria. Iris listens to their instructions with her teeth gritted. She had given the warrioes a perfect opportunity to get out clean. What could Eren be as to be worth both their lives, as well as risking to hand their titans over to the enemy? Could it be... but no, surely not... But could it possibly be so, could the founding titan...? None the wiser she straightens as the commander steps in front, looking just as dubious as she has come to expect from the man.

"We have until nightfall!" he thunders, brows so tightly knit they come to resemble one single, most magnificent brow. "If we make it there before nightfall we may yet have a chance to rescue Eren, and reclaim the titan-shifter Ymir who could prove an important asset to mankind!"

As the soldiers begin to descend the wall Iris is suddenly presented with yet another familiar face, although one she would much have preferred not to find here. Cressida on the other hand resembles a beautifully glossy and rather smug cat as she sidles to Iris' side. The look she gives her leaves little room for interpretation. Cressida's mouth curls into a joyful smile as she leans in close.

"It took me some time to figure it out my dear, but I understand it at last. My, my, what a mess you have made... They will kill you for this," she whispers happily.

"Move aside Wolfbrandt." She bodily shoves Cressida out of the way and dives from the precipice, the world turning to a blur around her as she falls. She imagines what it would be like to just keep falling until she hits the ground, and feels an echo of the terror she had experienced the moment she had become certain that Reiner would let her fall. Then she ejects her grappling hooks and turns her freefall into a controlled descent. Her feet finally connect with the ground in an orderly manner, and she looks around for the horse assigned to her. She finds it and climbs into the saddle, holding it back as it totters smartly. Historia comes to her side, seated on a dainty bay horse much suited to her own appearance.

"Let's get Ymir back!" she says, and Iris nods.

"I will give all," she says, turning her horse's head as Commander Erwin gallops to the head of the column.

With a roar they are off, riding as though Ymir Fritz's ancient devil itself is after them. The wind sends their capes flapping so wildly it almost looks as if the winged emblem itself is about to take flight. Horses snorts and flick their ears as their riders dig their heels into their sides, and the ground beneath their hooves blurs as it rushes past too quickly for the human eye to follow. Iris rises from her saddle to scout ahead for the first sight of trees, knowing that in not too long they will be there. Someone fires a red flare as a titan is spotted, and Commander Erwin instantly redirects their course. Shortly after yet another is spotted and they swerve west to avoid it. There is no time to attempt to fight the titans. The sun droops closer and closer to the horizon, and now, finally, she sees the treetops ahead. Will they be there, like Captain Hange surmised? The trees come closer and closer, rising so high as to completely block their view of the setting sun. She sees titans awaiting their arrival, more and more emerging from in between the tree trunks. She tries to count them to no avail. Somewhere inside the forest she sees a flash of bright, white light.

"A flash, from over there!" someone yells, and many voices cry their affirmation.

"All troops deploy! Find Eren Yeager and recover him at any cost!" Commander Erwin roars, and at breakneck speed the formation gallops into the swarm of titans. The cries to charge turns to wordless screams as men are plucked from their saddles, their horses continuing to run with the group on instinct. She sees Kirschtein and Marco launch themselves into the air ahead of her, and taking aim she lifts off, rising above the chaos below. Weaving between the trees she follows her comrades forward, her eyes darting back and forth in their search for a sign of them having passed here. A roar echoes through the forest, a wild, guttural cry which could not have come out of a human throat. She hears people screaming once the echoes of the roar fade, and circling the wide trunk of a tree she arrives just in time to see Ymir's titan-jaws close around a beaming Historia.

"Krista!" Connie screams .

"Ymir!" Iris attaches her grapples to the tree ahead and shoots forward at top speed. "Ymir, wait!"

Ymir's eyes flicker to her, the titan's body already turning to flee. With a grunt that could mean anything, Ymir's titan snaps its head around, and with surprising speed leaps through the trees in the opposite direction. Without stopping Iris follows, but the titan moves with incredible speed.

"Don't just stand there," Kirschtein barks somewhere to her left. "Follow her!"

They chase after Ymir's strangely squat titan-form, and Mikasa wonders aloud why Ymir would do such a thing, to which Kirschtein replies that he never trusted Ymir to begin with. Iris can very well imagine why Ymir would make such a decision. Ymir would do anything to save Krista, even if it means her own life. She sees yet another flash of light up ahead and hears a deep, reverberating 'boom' as a heavy titan's body slams against the ground.  _"Reiner,"_ she thinks wildly, and tries to no avail to increase her speed. The treeline comes on so quickly she almost ends up flying into thin air, and there she sees his titan form, running again with Bertholdt, Eren, and Ymir's titan clinging to his back. Below them the horses come thundering through the thickets, some soldiers having led them on while they took to the air.

"We'll follow them on horseback," Captain Hannes yells as he appears behind them, and without caring whose horse it is Iris launches herself towards the nearest one. They gallop forward, the armoured titan's body seeming to grow larger as they begin to catch up.

"The armoured titan must be unwilling to shed the armour on its joints. We will be able to catch up to them soon, but even if we do we won't be able to do much to stop it." Armin shouts over the wind and the thundering of the horses' hooves.

Without knowing why, Iris turns her head to glance over her shoulder. The forest so previously crowded with titans now looks empty. Then, sweeping her eyes to the left she sees a large group of soldiers tangle with a massive hoard of titans, fighting to outrun them, weaving to and fro in an attempt to free themselves of the grasping hands and stomping feet. At the head of the confused mass of flesh rides a very tall man whose face is turned fixedly forwards. Commander Erwin? She turns ahead again. The booming of the armoured titan's steps grow louder and louder in her ears.

"We need to coordinate," Armin says. "Send those with the highest probability of success for the first attack. Mikasa, you and Mister Hannes should go together."

Mikasa brandishes her blades. "Yeah I'll go. We might need to go through Ymir to get to them. I will not hesitate."

"Alright Armin, you were always the brightest kid I ever knew. We'll do as you say," Captain Hannes says and looks at Mikasa.

"Wait, please!" Iris urges her horse up alongside Mikasa's. "Ymir has not been associated with them this whole time, I have witnesses exchanges between her and Reiner to convince me that he and Bertholdt had no prior knowledge of Ymir's status. If she is working with them it is because she has been coerced, and we might still bring her back to our side."

"Are you absolutely sure of that?" Armin asks.

"Beyond certain."

"Fine, but if she chooses to get in our way I won't care whose side she's on. I won't lose Eren for her," Mikasa says darkly.

"Alright Mikasa, let's go. Ulrich you too!" Captain Hannes commands, and the three of them surge ahead.

Jean urges his horse up alongside Iris and Armin, with Marco and Connie falling into stride on her left.

"Armin, this would be a good time for one of your brilliant plans," Jean says, to which Armin shakes his head.

"I don't know... Anything we can think of then and there. We are too weak in comparison to take Eren by force, but... perhaps we can talk to them, or talk them into making a mistake." He turns his eyes on Iris and hesitates, brows drawing together with what looks like unease. "Reiner spared your life, which makes me think you have the best chance of talking him into letting Eren go. We will focus on Bertholdt since he's the one carrying Eren, and he's always been much easier to persuade than Reiner."

"Sounds like a plan, Armin. Bertholdt was always clear-headed and reasonable - I can't imagine he's alright with any of this. Maybe we can talk to him," Marco says hopefully.

"Yeah, I still can't believe that all those years meant nothing to them. Even if they're responsible for the fall of Maria they've been our comrades for years now. We've laughed and fought together, and Reiner's pretty much saved each and every one of us at some point. There's gotta be a way to talk to them!" Connie shouts, his eyes fixed on the armoured titan's massive bulk.

"And if not, we need to find a way to kill the damned bastards," Kirschtein growls. "Let's go, all together, now!"

They kick their heels into the sides of their horses, and as they close in on the armoured titan they see Mikasa arching through the air towards where Bertholdt and Eren are perched on its shoulder. Bertholdt screams shrilly as her blades flash in the light of the setting sun. He scrambles backward screaming for help as Mikasa comes bearing down upon them. Long, armoured fingers close around him and Eren just in time. Mikasa's blades clang and break against the hand's hard plating. She stares furiously into the gaps between the armoured titan's fingers, when Ymir's titan hand suddenly shoves her out of the way. She takes to the air, swinging round to attack Ymir when Historia climbs onto the titan's face, screaming. They see her and Mikasa speaking to one another, but their words are stolen by the howling wind. The five of them go together, launching themselves from their saddles, hooking their grapples onto the armoured titan's massive shoulders.

Her feet connect with Reiner's solid plating with a dull thud. She turns her face up and finds herself gazing into the eyes of Ymir and Historia, the latter clinging to Ymir's titan's coarse, wiry hair. Iris turns and edges her way onto the armoured titan's right shoulder, stopping beside its large ear. Her hands feel along the armoured cords on his neck. The plate looks as though it would feel cool against her fingers, but instead it is warm like the body beneath. Hearing her comrades pleading with Bertholdt in the background, she leans in close and whispers into Reiner's titan's ear.

"Reiner, it is I... Forgive me, I had resolved to let you go and yet, here we are now." She lays her palm against the plated cheekbone, stroking it like it is a startled horse in need of reassurance. He gives no sign of having heard her, but she feels certain that he hears her very well.

"I believe you came here ignorant and unprepared for the enormity of the deeds required to ensure your success... Children with weapons in hand, believing that through blood we could wash the world clean." She hears Kirschtein speaking to Bertholdt about the times they planned for their futures; lives in which they would remain friends until they were grey and old. She rests her forehead against the oddly warm plate shielding across the titan's cheekbone, closing her eyes for a moment. Holding on to the titan, hands clutching that which will soon be ripped away. Holding on to the promise she made to herself.

"Forgive me, comrade, I cannot help you. Neither could I find it in me to complete my mission and set you free." She hears Bertholdt cry out. His in other circumstances so comfortable, soft voice is rendered almost unrecognizable by the pain that mars his words. He cannot give Eren back, even if he wants to, even though he wants to. Opening her eyes she glances to the horizon ahead, and then she moves her mouth to the titan's ear.

"Forgive me... I have to take Eren from you. Go home Reiner - It was the only thing you ever wished for and I beg you, do it now. Go, and never set your eyes here again."

She hears a cry from somewhere far below. Captain Hannes charges with their horses in tow, screaming for them to get off. The sound of thundering footsteps almost completely drowns out the sound his voice. Commander Erwin, riding as the front of a massive horde of titans is charging right for them. Behind him the gathered forces of the Garrison and the Military Police are straining to stay ahead of the stampede. Her five comrades leap from the armoured titan's shoulders like passengers from a sinking ship, and there is no time to waste on prayers. She swallows hard and leans into Reiner's ear one last time.

"Farewell, warrior of Marley."

His massive titan's head turns and the jaws open to a thundering roar, but she is already in the air, swinging round in a wide arch. The wind tugs at her hair like greedy fingers as she turns mid-air, shooting her grapple hooks into the soft flesh on Ymir's back just as the armoured titan drops its shoulder and bulls into the wall of oncoming flesh. Ymir's titan's grasp on the plated shoulder slips until she is sent flying, barely hanging on with just one hand. Iris's wires give a jarring jolt which throws her off course, and she detaches her hooks to keep from crashing into the sea of grasping hands and faces. She aims for a tall titan bearing down on Reiner from above, its mouth angled towards Ymir, changing direction and surging forward as she squeezes the bottom trigger. Another titan rushes in from the side, forcing her to avert her attack to dodge underneath its grasping arm. She swings round it and hits the bottom trigger again. Her blades slice through the neck like a hot knife through butter, but emerging through the steam she sees a hand grasping for her. She turns her body and propels herself around, cutting through the fingers without even having seen which titan the hand belongs to. What is up and what is down somehow blurs together as she darts between outstretched hands and gaping mouths, and somewhere below she hears the Commander's cry to advance.

No matter how she tries she cannot seem to reach Ymir, caught beneath the crawling mass of bodies. The armoured titan slows until it halts completely, sagging underneath the weight and strain of all that flesh. Its mouth opens again and it roars in frustration; so close to finishing the mission but so terrifyingly close to losing everything. Reiner moves the titan's hands from his neck, underneath which he has been sheltering Bertholdt and Eren, and begins to shove and pound the titans weighing him down. Iris turns mid-air and flips the upper trigger, hooking herself onto a ten-metre titan coming in from behind the armoured with its eyes set on Bertholdt and Yeager. She surges forward, hair flying, tears streaking, wind screaming.

" _Now or never... take... Eren... back!"_  She spins and feels the cut through her body. Changing direction she suddenly sees Mikasa going for Bertholdt, but he dodges her at the last minute and a titan suddenly leaps from below and catches Mikasa by its hand. Iris blinks, momentarily taken aback by the idea of an Ackermann falling in battle, and then everything seems to happen all at once. Kirschtein appears out of nowhere and kills the titan grasping Mikasa. Two Garrison Soldiers try to get to Bertholdt but the armoured titan catches their wires with its hand and dashes them away. Armin lands on the armoured's head and says something to Bertholdt, she cannot hear what. She shoots her grapple hooks, attaching them to the armoured's hand and squeezes the bottom trigger. She feels the sharp jolt as her trajectory changes and she rushes forward. She sees the armoured's other hand coming towards her, aiming for her wires and she detaches them, hooking onto the oncoming forearm instead. She swings in a wide arch and for a moment finds herself looking right into the armoured titan's face. Twisting her body she dodges around the slowly flailing hand, changes her trajectory once more, and descends upon Bertholdt. She feels the steel singing as she cuts the air, and feels the slight resistance as she cuts Bertholdt's flesh. Blood and steam oozes from the shallow graze, and Eren falls from the armoured titan's hand. Mikasa comes seemingly out of nowhere and catches Yeager, instantly heading for their horses.

Iris falls, and with a strange sort of calm she wonders if she has done enough. The look of confused surprise on Bertholdt's face as he saw it was she who had come for him refuses to fade from before her eyes. They should have left immediately upon her warning, without stealing Ymir and Eren with them. It is not her fault they overreached. He does not have the right to look at her as if attacking him constitutes some form of betrayal. Her eyes drift aimlessly across the battlefield, falling upon a strange looking titan grappling with another titan. A girl maneuvers in and lands a killing low. With a jolt Iris realises that it is Ymir and Historia she sees. She fires her grappling hooks and swings herself in a wide arch towards a stray horse, and the poor beast lurches with surprise as she hits the saddle. She digs her heels into the horse's sides and together they sprint towards her comrades. She sees Connie riding past the two. He snatches Historia off the ground and heaves her onto his horse. Iris chases after them.

A huge shadow passes over her head, and looking up she sees a titan flying spread-eagle above her. It crashes to the ground somewhere up ahead with a 'boom' which makes the ground beneath her horse's hooves heave and shake. Titans begin to rain from the sky like autumn's first snow, sailing rather gracefully through the air only to bounce and roll onto screaming horses and riders as they slam down onto the ground. She sees Ymir charge the titan's now rising to attack the riders in their path, trying to clear a way through for Connie and Historia. She catches up to them just as Ymir tears the head off a five-metre titan, and without stopping to think she launches herself out of the saddle and onto Ymir's shoulder. Seeing Connie pull ahead with a flailing Krista sprawled in front of his saddle, she tugs at Ymir's hair.

"Ymir, I must confess!" she cries just as she feels the titan's muscles tensing. The big head turns a little. "I understand what you were trying to do, but you do not have all the information. You might also want to consider the sort of life she would have with the enemy, who shows no regard for Eldian lives. How do you know they would not exploit her blood and breed her like some precious race horse?"

A growl rises from the titan's throat, and a moment later steam erupts from its neck as Ymir's upper body rises from the flesh. She turns her head to Iris. "Alright talk. Hurry!"

"You believe the kingdom is doomed, but it is not. If Eren has stolen the founding titan there might be a way to use it still, and even if he does not there are other things within the walls, things which you do not know of. Inventions whose nature you cannot even begin to imagine, and weapons."

To her outmost surprise, Ymir smiles grimly. "I always knew that son of a bitch was up to something. Your darling father's just the sort of man to have weapons he keeps to himself while people are dying. Always hated his damned guts."

"M-my father? Pray wha-"

"No time for that now. Promise me you'll protect Historia, Bachmann. Keep her safe. Do it for me."

"I promise, but-"

"Good, now let's go help them."

Without waiting for a reply she leans forward, disappearing into a cloud of hot steam. Iris leaps back onto the horse and they set off together, catching up with Connie and Historia. More titans seem to have been thrown up ahead, and now they appear to be circling back towards the crowd of soldiers. She engages a five-metre titan and could almost swear she hears Marco's voice cry out somewhere close. Before she is even certain that she heard it the sound is lost in the din of battle. She hears Historia yell to Ymir that they will live for themselves from now on, facing the dangers together, braver at each other's sides than they ever were apart. Connie howls like a madman as he fells yet another titan. Iris kills a five-metre abomination with a strangely shrunken head, landing on the ground beside its rapidly dissolving body. Looking up, she sees countless more coming. There are too many. Then the strangest thing happens: The titans stop moving, standing stock still for a split second before they raise their heads in unison. As though sharing a single conscience they all turn their heads in the same direction, standing up. Moving at exactly the same time, they suddenly break into a headless sprint, pelting across the grass towards a very tall titan in the distance.

" _The founding titan."_ She watches them attack the tall titan like a pack of hungry dogs, tearing it limb from limb while soldiers everywhere stare in stunned silence. Parts of titan are tossed aside like yesterday's garbage, steam rising from the carcass as they gorge themselves. At first Iris does not register the sound of great, running footsteps, but then she sees the armoured titan galloping right towards the spot where the tall titan is being savaged. Reiner has managed to get free. Knowing for certain now that the very thing they have been searching for is within his reach, he charges forward like a bat out of hell, Bertholdt flailing by his wires like a weather vane on the side of the armoured's massive neck. Iris hears someone shouting something, and again the titans raise their heads in unison. Only, this time their attention is turned towards the armoured titan. She stands frozen on the spot as they leap to their feet and washes over him like an angry wave of flesh. Somewhere at the back of her mind she registers someone saying they should all retreat while the titans are busy. She manages to shuffle her feet but no more. Someone with a voice like Historia cries something behind her, and as though in a dream Iris sees Ymir's titan step in front of her. The big ugly head turns around until their eyes meet.

"Keep...safe..." The titan's black eyes bore into hers, and it takes her a moment to understand what it means.

"No, Ymir. Please don't go! Don't go!" She is not entirely sure whether she means "stay" or "do not go without me", and either way it make no difference. It is too late. Ymir is already running towards the warriors, and towards the titans attempting to pull them to pieces.

Something hits her over the head, and looking up she sees Connie mounted and ready to go behind her, the reins to Historia's horse in his hands. "Let's go, now. Move!"

Iris nods and runs to the horse she had taken, which is polite enough to have stayed with her. She climbs into the saddle and looks towards the warriors and Ymir one last time. Then she turns her horse's head the other way, and urges him forward. She closes her ears to the battle behind her and rides through the thickets. Somewhere up ahead she hears the familiar cry once more.

"Anyone?!"

Marco's voice. She gallops towards it and finds him cradling Jean's unconscious form. Kirschtein's face is pale and bloody, but he does not look dead. The carcass of his horse lies beside some splintered tree trunks, but Marco's horse is waiting just beside them.

"I can't get him onto the horse," Marco pants, trying to hoist the floppy body up onto the horse's back. She rides to their side and grips onto Kirschtein's collar, and together they drag him up and lay him across the horse's shoulders. Marco climbs on, and without a word between them they chase after the rest of the soldiers.

Reiner, Bertholdt and Ymir are not seen again.

* * *

All soldiers who had participated in the raid were brought to Stohess headquarters, where a temporary hospital was set up while the citizens of Wall Rose evacuated to the underground city. Commander Erwin fell into a sleep no one could wake him from, and Jean and Mikasa occupied one sickroom each, both being what the personnel most often referred to as "a little worse for wear".

Iris and Marco spend the following day at Jean's bedside. He has sustained a head injury and sleeps a lot, but is otherwise in good health. She has not seen Historia since they arrived at headquarters, and they had not spoken much on the ride back. Historia had upon reaching Wall Rose broken down and pleaded with Eren that he might take them to Shiganshina soon to rescue Ymir. Iris had turned her face away, trying not to hear.

She sits on a wooden chair next to the bed in which Kirschtein sleeps. The white bandage wrapped around his head threatens to swallow his face. There is a dark stain where blood from the cut on his scalp has leaked through. They have not changed the wrappings since their arrival yesterday. Not knowing what else to do with them, she wrings her hands on her lap. Marco left around midday, but he will return later. There is a desk at the back of the room, an inkwell and quill sitting upon it. She seats herself on the chair and pulls a piece of folded paper from her uniform breast pocket. She dips the quill in the ink and pauses, wondering which words are the right ones for the occasion. Once her mind is made up, she writes them out slowly and carefully, as this is her last piece of paper.

_Jean Kirschtein_

_If you wake and find that I am no longer at your side, consider these to be my words of parting. I cannot say when we might meet again, or under which circumstances. You might wonder why I choose to leave this with you, to which I will say that I have two reasons – One: I trust that you will know what to make of it. – Two: I have something to ask of you. It is of the outmost importance, and something I would not leave with anyone else. I entreat you, keep Historia safe. I trust that all of you will do your duty by her, but you most of all must safeguard her. Pray forgive my parting with you in this manner; I am not at liberty to say who has taken me away, or where in Mitras you might seek an audience with me._

_Yours truly  
Iris Bachmann_

She folds the paper back up and puts it on the table beside the bed. Sitting on the chair once more, she leans forward until her forehead is rested against the edge of his cot. The linen feels cool and soothing against her skin. She closes her eyes. Feels her face tug itself into a deep frown. Her hands coil, gripping the side of the mattress like claws. The muscles in her shoulders and back clench as if preparing to fight an unseen foe, but the thing tearing at something inside her is not a thing she can fight through strength. She tries to breathe calmly, but it is hard. Her body wants to gulp down air in short, strangled gasps.

There is a sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway outside. Iris stiffens, holds her breath. Heavy boots against wooden floorboards; a man most likely, no several men, but one walks ahead of the others. They do not speak to one another. She hears a clinking sound, light metal against heavier metal, like a ring being tap-tapped against the barrel of a musket. The heavy boots stop further down the hall, followed by a soft creaking as a door is opened. Whoever is outside must have peered into the room and found nothing of interest, because the door creaks once again and thuds softly back into place. The boots begin to move once more, coming closer. Iris straightens and lets go of the mattress. She stands up and walks to the door. The handle to the door feels cold against her palm. She looks at Kirschtein over her shoulder, but her movements have not awakened him. She opens the door, and steps out.

Four men crowd the hallway outside the door. Three wear dark frock coats and regent hats, and though she has never seen them before she knows they are lawmen of the High Court. The fourth man however is in no way unfamiliar to her. He displays the Military Police's unicorn across his back, and the hair on the back of his head is cut to medium length. It has an unkempt look about it. He is quietly addressing one of the lawmen. The floorboard beneath her foot groans as she steps on it, and the man turns around. His thin face brightens upon seeing her, and he pulls the corners of his mouth up in the mockery of a smile.

"Ah, there you are. Good day to you, Agent Bachmann." His lowblood, dark brown eyes glimmer speculatively. The lawmen behind him hold their muskets by only one hand, muzzles pointed towards the floor. Each man conceals his right hand within his frock coat.

Iris bows her head. "Good day, Councilman Dok."

Nile Dok, commander of the Military Police Brigade, motions her to his side. "Come with me. Your presence is wanted elsewhere." He takes her by the arm and leads her down the hall. The lawmen close ranks behind them.


	21. Absolution

**21: Absolution**

* * *

They pass through the golden gates, behind which reside the last remnants of her people. Tall stone buildings with stucco features and high windows rise on each side of the broad, cobbled street. Polished carriages drawn by fat, glossy horses clatter down the cobbles, and on the raised sidewalks richly clad people sidle along, stopping to converse whenever they come upon an acquaintance. Most faces show a slightly tanned, warm toned complexion accompanied by dark hair, and eyes which range from shades of warm bronze to dark brown. Councilman Dok leads her gently but firmly by the arm through the somewhat crowded street, ignoring the inquisitive looks from those around them. They take her to Arun Square, where at one end the city hall faces east towards the rising sun. The magnificently tall whitewashed building with beautiful stucco detailing is the seat of the General Council, as well as the High Council. A white marble fountain at the centre of the square sprays jets of water towards the skies, letting it rain back down as a fine mist. A gilded horse rears up through the haze, its rider brandishing a tall spear. They writhe together, caught in the midst of endless battle. The rider is Aclerion, lord of the dawn and greatest among the gods. Here he is depicted riding upon his first mount, Conquest. Myth claims that Aclerion left the halls of the undying and mounted Conquest by the gates of the gods. He rides across the heavens to herald a new dawn, and upon reaching his destination he will claim a new mount, the red steed named War. The statue of Aclerion turns its stern gold visage towards the House of Judgement, the courthouse at the other end of the plaza.

"Councilman Dok, might I ask where you are taking me?"

"Hoping for an audience with the High Council, Agent?" he says wryly, peering at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'm afraid it'll be the House of Judgement for you. No welcome news I'm sure, but don't go getting any funny ideas." He makes a vague gesture towards the armed lawmen stationed by the entrances to the House of Judgement. As if on a given signal, the three men behind them draws whatever weapons they had concealed within their frock coats. She feels the thin barrel of a weapon press against the small of her back.

"You fear me, Councilman?"

He smiles. "Every man should feel some small amount of fear when he comes face to face with the wolf, should he not?"

"I will admit I see no wolf here," she says.

Nile Dok pats her wrist with his hand.

"All agents are wolves, Iresia. I believe that's the whole point of it. You hunt and kill and eat as a pack, and when prey grows scant you turn on the weak and eat each other." His dark eyes twinkle. Councilman Dok has led a double life longer than she has even been alive. Aside from Chairman Lindberg, who holds a seat in the king's Council of Nobles, no one has risen so high as Nile Dok within the royal government. He went so far as to befriend a boy whose father had been executed for high treason, Erwin Smith, knowing very well the answer to the questions his comrade decided to devote his life to. Dok had even married an Eldian woman and managed to father children while moving up the political ladder, securing himself a seat on the General Council – the highest attainable position within their society for someone of low blood. Iris is certain that if there is one here who should fear the other, it is she.

Nile leads her up the stairs to the courthouse, through the lobby and entrance hall within, and into one of the corridors hidden behind the grand marble staircase. Here, he opens a set of tall wooden doors and motions for her to enter. The lawmen stop outside the door, evidently intent on standing guard. Once through the door, he asks her to hand back the single-action revolver Valentin had given to her, and then he checks her for concealed weapons. The room within has a high vaulted ceiling, where decorative plasterwork encircles and frames masterful paintings. They depict the myth of creation as well as the doom of their once proud sun nation. Three panels right inside the door show the gods moulding the world from dense grey clay and inflating it with gas to make air and water spring from the ground. The next panel shows legions of men clad in steel armour, spears and swords in hand. The painting beside it depicts armoured cavalry riding down people clad in rich cloth and leather, to a backdrop of blackened buildings and red flames. The last painting shows children kneeling before a hook-nosed man wearing a legate's helmet and gilded armour. The ground beneath them is slick with blood, and the bodies of the dead are piled around them in great mounds of corpses. Thus ended Thessia, over two-thousand years ago.

Iris looks towards the tall windows covered in ornamental latticework, which further diffuses the impression of having just arrived in a high class holding cell. Ostentatious armchairs, sofas and a chaise lounge are arranged upon the lavish rug at the centre of the room, half smothered in beautiful silk upholstery. A huge chandelier with prisms the size of quail eggs hangs majestically suspended over the neatly arranged furniture. The polished wooden floor is inlaid with intricate floral intarsia, and clean enough to eat from. Iris does a full turn and ends up looking back at Nile Dok, standing stock still in the open doorway.

"Is this a cell?" she asks. The fact the room lacks anything which might pass for a privy has not escaped her.

"Think of it as a waiting room - one you will not be able to leave until we let you out. Have no fear, you will not be here long. We have more suitable accommodations waiting for you downstairs." Below ground level.

"Pray tell, what will I be waiting for?"

Councilman Dok peers at her quizzically as if trying to decide whether she is a strange but beautiful butterfly, or a common, ugly one. He looks much older than Commander Erwin Smith, though they should be of similar age.

"Your mother wished to see you. She will be here any moment."

Iris moves backwards until her shins bump against the side of the chaise, and she sits down. How many years have passed since she last saw Mama – three, or four? She cannot even remember the last words they spoke to one another before this long separation, probably because they were of no consequence. Councilman Dok is still looking at her with that same, speculative expression.

"Why did you do it?" he says.

"I do not understand the question."

He smiles again. "No, of course not... Well, now that you are safely in our custody I must return to my duties. Good day to you, Agent Bachmann."

Without waiting for any form of reply he steps out the door and closes it behind him. She hears the clinking of keys and a soft rattling as the lock turns, followed by a soft 'click'. Dok's soft steps fade as he walks back they way they had come. Strange, now that he is gone she almost wishes he would come back. The room feels very big and much too grand. She looks down at the beautiful floor, and remembers playing cards with Reiner in front of a fireplace one winter's eve. It must have been during one of those trips up north they made each winter. She remembers Reiner shooting her a deadpan look over the top of his cards before placing one on the floor between them. His smirk when she tried to decide which card to play, changing her mind over and over again. It was always so difficult to focus when he looked at her that way. Why had she put the silver cigarette case in his pocket? Was it because she wanted him to carry some small part of her with him, or had she just wanted there to be something in the world to bear witness to the fact that she had existed; something to say "I am human, and I never wanted this"? It cannot be that she held any hope, can it?

She flinches when the lock on the door rattles and clicks. Someone must have arrived outside, only she had sunk too deep in thought to notice. The handle turns and then the door bursts open. A piercing shriek echoes through the rooms and corridors, and in a flurry of skirts and magnificently done up hair a woman gallops over the threshold. A smaller, much quieter figure follows after, hauling a large coffer by a leather strap. It clunks loudly against the beautifully polished floor and the pale girl winces, shooting the lawmen outside an apologetic look as if it is their floor she might have ruined. The door swings shut behind them and Iris stands, bracing herself. Elfrida Bachmann throws her arms around her eldest daughter, shrieking at the top of her voice like a banshee.

"Oh my dear girl, my dearest darling girl, how you have grown. But it is terrible, terrible, I simply cannot stand it! That they would sink so low as to claim such a thing! It is a scandal! Such an affront to our noble family, I simply cannot stand such base slander! Oh Attacus, oh Lymantra, what is to become of us all?" She dissolves into tears, shaking Iris roughly back and forth like a ragdoll. She pats her mother on the back awkwardly and breathes in the fumes of perfume and powder. Finally, Elfrida sniffles and releases her daughter.

"Be brave child," she says, as if Iris had taken any part in the violent outburst of grief. "We must keep faith. That is how we will get out of this, keep faith and tell the truth." As if they were all collectively being accused of something. Elfrida looks young for her age, almost childishly so, dressed in frilly garb with ridiculously puffed up skirts.

"Papa?" Iris says, and sees her mother's lips press together to form a thin line across her face.

"Should we expect him to abandon his duties for a social call? He will be at your trial, standing as your most staunch defender. We would do well to remember the terrible strain this whole ordeal has put upon him."

Iris wonders if the aforementioned ordeal encompasses her entire life. She lowers her chin. "Trial?"

Elfrida tuts disapprovingly. "Is that a proper way to address a question, Iresia? Just look at you, crude as a boor and filthy. I dare say you look half a tramp. Ariadne, help me get your sister out of those unsightly rags. I will not have you displaying those colours before the High Court."

The little figure who had hauled the coffer over the threshold pushes the locks of pale, blonde hair back to reveal a pale, fine-boned visage bearing a faint resemblance to Iris' own. Her large, blue eyes flitter between the floor and her sister's face. Ariadne is five years her junior, which means that by now she has turned eleven. Within the year she will be considered mature enough to make her debut into society. If society still exists at that point, that is.

"Sister," Ariadne says and curtsies. "I am so glad to see you again. So glad..." They have not seen each other in three years, and immediately her sister is expected to assist in undressing her. High society is savage that way.

Mama treats her discarded pieces clothing as though fearing they might be infected with the bubonic plague, wrapping them in a linen sheet Iris suspects she intends to have the servants burn in the yard outside Durmholz. They dress her in chemise, corset, petticoat and stockings. The light muslin gown Mama pulls from the coffer is fitted tightly around the chest and upper body, with a high lace collar that is much too tight for comfort. Her tall standard-issue military leather boots are exchanged for a set of silk brocade shoes. Stood in the light from one of the windows Iris looks down at the lace, the muslin and the silk, while somewhere out there comrades she had wished to protect might lie beneath the open sky, shrouded in mud and blood and dirt.

Elfrida claps a hand over her mouth, eyes glimmering with moisture. "Oh, Iresia, how you have grown... I begged your father for news of your welfare, but he would not say a word other than that you had left Mitras to serve our people. What horrors you must have endured while subjected to the perversion of such people! I shudder to think of it. If only you had not- but no, let us not speak of such here." She glances to the grandfather clock at the other end of the room.

"We were only supposed to stay for thirty minutes. Ariadne, say goodbye to your sister now - show her your best curtsey. Excellent, such a good girl." She claps her hands excitedly as Ariadne curtseys prettily and bids Iris goodbye in demure, pleasant tones.

"Try not to dirty your dress my dear, you will not get a chance to change it before the trial. I most heatedly protested such barbarism, believing that a fine establishment such as the High Court would understand the needs of someone of gentle breeding, but alas my protests have fallen on deaf ears. Speaking of ears - remember to wash and powder your hair, it looks an awful mess the way it is."

"Mama, I do not believe the court will pay any attention to how my hair looks."

"We cannot know that. We must all do our best now to convince the court that a great mistake has been made: And that includes you, Iresia." Elfrida pats her shoulder and she nods mutely, not knowing where to begin with any form of reply. Her mother takes her sister by the arm and leads her from the room. Ariadne gives her sister a look of curiosity and wonder as she crosses the threshold. She had been little more than a babe when Iris left the house to move into the Academy dormitory. Though the Academy facilities are located on the same grand estate, their lives could not have been more different from one another. The door closes behind them and the lock clicks once more.

Six lawmen arrive to escort her to her holding cell not long after Mama and Ariadne have left. They lead her to the end of the hallway outside the lavish room, and down a flight of spiralling stone steps. The further down they go the darker it gets, and the air grows moist and cool as though they are entering a deep cellar, or a tomb. She loses count on the amount of steps they descend, distracted by the echoes of their feet bouncing between the walls. She sees lights down below as she descends the last few steps, arriving inside a dimly lit underground room. The floor is made of packed dirt, the walls of solid stone. Firelight flickers from torches and sconces on the walls, but despite the open flames it is cold down here. Iron bars divide the room into four cells, two on each side of the walkway through the middle. All cells are presently empty. The tallest lawman leads her to the first cell on the right. He is a thin-lipped man with prominent bone-structure and blue eyes - a man of noble blood. Most likely he is the drunken, gambling wastrel of a noble house, as the lawman's position is not one of great repute. It is a job considered suitable to men of the low blood, but then, so is pretty much any position. They employ Eldians only for the lowest, dirtiest jobs.

"Get in," he says in a dry, cracked voice. "And just so you don't get confused, your lot aren't too popular around here. All I need is an excuse, and I'll show just how unpopular." He smiles, displaying a gap where someone has knocked out one of his front teeth. He looks to be somewhere around thirty, going on sickly, and the whites of his eyes are yellowish. She wonders if it is agents or women he means to say are not too popular around here. If his hard eyes are any hint to go by, she would say it is both.

She steps into the cell and the door closes behind her with a loud screech. The air smells of damp and dirt. A straw-stuffed mattress lies upon the cold floor to her right. The two blankets crumpled on top of it are so matted with dirt it is impossible to tell whether they were grey all along, or if it is a more recent development. A large pewter bucket occupies the opposite corner from the mattress. There is a rickety wooden table with dry washbasin just to the left of the door, but no water to fill it with. Her skirts drag through the dust as she walks to the mattress, and she discards the large petticoat before sitting down. The blankets feel slightly moist as she pulls them onto her lap. The lawmen ascend the stairs, their muttered conversation reverberating through the space as they climb. The low murmur is abruptly cut off as they reach the top and close the door behind them.

She spends her time watching the shadows chasing back and forth across the stone walls. When the torches burn down she shivers in the darkness, wishing the lawmen would come back to throw more insults at her. At some point she falls asleep, drifting in and out of wistful dreams. Next she wakes the torches are once again lit, but she does not know whether it means that a new day has dawned, or just that someone thought she might succumb to hypothermia. The light filters hazily through her lashes as she lies curled underneath the musty blankets, watching a large shadowcat leap across a field of light, disappearing into the darkness on the other side. It crosses the distance again and again in endless determination. Her body is void, endless space where particles drift without purpose or context. She dissolves into nothingness, the bonds of flesh melting from her like an anchor tearing free. Her eyes close again. Time makes no sense any more, it begins to loop in senseless circles. She falls asleep and wakes up before she dozed. The chill settles in her until she is boiling hot, and she crawls out of the clammy blankets to lie panting like a dog on the packed dirt. She closes her eyes, knowing that next time she wakes she will be back in the before, back when the cold was in her bones.

Something sharp pokes her in the ribs.

"Oi," a voice says.

"She dead, Caius? That'd be bad me thinks," another, higher voice with a slight lisp says.

Iris grunts. She cannot feel her arms or her legs. It is like her body ends at the hips and shoulders, and the things protruding from the joints are rigid, alien objects. She pries her eyes open, seeing the shadow of a thin man standing next to her. She cannot feel her lips. Her mouth opens but all that comes out is hot air.

"You okay?" The man she takes to be Caius bends towards her. He is not the blue eyed guard who threatened her. "Got food for you ma'am."

Footsteps echo down the spiral stairs and through the chamber. Light steps, deliberate and even. The two lawmen's heads turn to see who comes, and as the thin man shuffles to the side Iris sees that someone has lit a fire in the pit at the centre of the room. A cooking pot hangs suspended above it, trailing smoke towards the small, circular hole in the ceiling. The shadow of a man creeps across the wall by the stairs, and moments later a third man enters the stone chamber. Fireblind, she blinks and tries to make him out. There is something familiar about the way he walks.

"Move aside," a deep, soft voice says. She closes her eyes, recognizing his voice. He bends beside her. "I will lift you."

"We're not supposed to bring her out," the thin man supposedly named Caius protests, but she feels arms hot as coals close around her, and a second later she is lifted off the damp mattress.

"I am to prepare her for trial."

The floor floats past and she is gently rocked up and down as they move out of the cell and into the warm firelight. It burns. She remembers what her skin smelled like as they peeled the remnants of clothing off her burns. Like frying fat.

"Do not struggle. It burns because you are too cold," the deep voice says. He puts her down next to the fire. The ground feels very warm through her tattered skirt. She sees one of her feet sticking out of the fabric like a foot-shaped, white turnip. She wiggles her toes, but the turnip's toes do not move.

"Darius," she wheezes, voice broken and dry. He looks up at the lawmen who loiter uncertainly just outside her empty cell.

"Leave us."

"Can't do that sir, she's our responsibility and we ain't had no orders saying to leave you alone with her," the lisper argues, but his eyes flicker uncertainly from Darius to the stairs. Firelight dances across Darius' rough-hewn features and reflects in the black, unblinking eyes. A half-smile plays across his lips.

"Leaves us," he repeats, voice firm but soft.

"Let's go, Opp. We'll watch from the top of the stairs. Too bloody cold down here anyway," thin Caius says, as though trying to convince himself. He picks up the musket and baton leaned against the wall next to the stairs, and his friend follows behind him as he ascends the steps. Darius fills a pewter cup with water from a flagon while the sounds of the two men's footsteps slowly fade. He puts the cup to her lips and she reflexively tilts her head back, swallowing as he pours the water into her mouth. Her body shivers and some of it spills across her cheeks, dribbling down her chin and onto her chest. He fills another cup with water and helps her drink, before putting the cup down.

"Straighten your legs," he says, and takes her foot in his hands, kneading it until she begins to feel the warmth from his hands. He rubs her ankles and shins until sensation returns to her legs, and then does the same with her arms. It feels too good to protest the impropriety of it.

"How... long," she whispers, voice breaking on the second word.

"Two weeks. The High Court was scheduled to convene two days from your arrival at the House of Judgement, but things have been... unsettled within the walls as of late. When I brought word to them of your poor health it was decided to postpone your trial."

"Poor health?"

"You have been very ill. I have cared for you to the best of my ability."

She only remembers the total, engulfing desolation... and the cold. Quietly she takes an inventory of herself, noting that that she is still wearing the same clothes, minus the petticoat.

"Is there civil unrest within the walls?" she asks.

"You could say that." If she did not know better she would say he finds the thought somewhat amusing. He fills a wooden bowl with the contents of the pot, putting it in her stiff but no longer numb hands. Some sort of soup. She drinks it while he speaks.

"Your 'disappearance' caused quite the stir, going so far as to raise speculations regarding your potential affiliation with the Marley infiltrators. That Captain Hange Zoë caused a great commotion when she began to make enquiries about your origins. Her questions troubled the Council of Nobles, who felt the Survey Corps were poking their noses into too many things that are not their business. Once a military official brought certain concerns and personal insights to the king's attention, his Royal Majesty became convinced that the commander of the Survey Corps is involved in a plot to usurp him." He smiles dryly.

Iris snorts. "Was our Councilman Dok the conscientious figure who warned the king of Commander Smith?"

"Possibly, and the Council of Nobles were quick to lend their support to the idea. The First Interior Squad quickly seized hold of the traitorous clergyman Nick and extracted what they could from him. Some grunts were hired to capture the princess and the titan-shifter Yeager, but the head of the company, Dimo Reeves, turned traitor. The Mad Dog saw through the ploy and gave the old man a red smile before he took hold of the princess and the Yeager. Commander Erwin Smith was arrested for the murder of the man Reeves yesterday, and the Survey Corps are now either outlawed or in the crown's custody."

"Rod Reiss really is the true king," she rasps. "He plans to feed Eren Yeager to Historia."

"It seems so, but the High Council has decided that it is of no consequence to us if his majesty wishes to reassume control over what appears to be the 'Attack Titan'."

Darius does not know what happened out on the plains, where Eren used the founding titan's power? She frowns. The High Council must know that the crown lost possession of the founding titan, but even if they do not know who stole it in 845, it seems strange they would show so little interest in Yeager when he is the most likely culprit

"Why?" she says to Darius. "Why is it of no consequence? The nature of the attack titan is for the most part a mystery to us, is it not?"

"Because Grandfather awakes."

It seems she ought to feel something at this news, excitement or perhaps some amount of joy, but she does not. It is a little too big to take in all at once. She ponders quietly a moment or two, before asking: "Is there a conspiracy to dethrone the king?"

"Most likely, yes. Chairman Lindberg has withdrawn from the royal palace under the premise of tending to a family emergency. Commander Erwin Smith's sentence is to be decided tomorrow. If there is to be a coupe, it seems likely that the axe will fall there. We are mobilising, in case the King's Armed Forces seizes control and decide to hunt the chairman down. His residence is not listed in any public record in accordance with the treaty, but the other nobles might know something which would enable the Armed Forces to find us."

"And in the midst of this I am to stand trial?" she asks, and sees Darius nod solemnly. "Talk about having your priorities in order." Said not without some small amount of bitterness. She licks her dry, cracked lips.

Darius hums thoughtfully. "Is Cressida Wolfbrandt dead?

"Not to my knowledge. She returned with us after we freed Eren Yeager from the clutches of... the Marley infiltrators." She had come close to calling Reiner and Bertholdt by name.

"Ah, what a shame." He sounds almost sad saying it. "She must have gone dark with some of the Survey Corps members." Darius pulls a pocket watch from the inner breast pocket of his plain frock coat. "We must go soon. I will escort you upstairs."

"Already? There is no chance I might wash before? Mama will be very cross with me."

"No. I am sorry." He does not sound particularly sorry. She looks down at her dirty, frayed sleeves. Long rat tails of dirty hair falls forward across her shoulders and into her eyes. She smells of sickness, grime and human filth.

"Will you stay for the trial?" She is not even sure she cares.

"I always do."

A strange reply, but this is not the time to be picky about conversational skills. At least he seems to remember what they are both doing here. She wonders how the officials have failed to notice that Darius is half-mad, but if there ever was a time for critical analysis of her superiors, it is long past.

"Darius - will they kill me?"

"Do not worry," he says, getting to his feet. He offers her a hand and helps her stand. "Everything will be alright in the end. If it is not alright, it is not the end."

She thinks it might be his way of saying "Yes". She looks down at the stained, dirty bodice of the dress. To face the High Court in this state, looking like a noblewoman who rolled down a very long and very steep hill, only to come to a stop in a dung heap.

"Would you help me out of my dress before we go, please?"

He shoots her a deadpan look before answering.

"If you wish." Not even a blush. Not that she can blame him, but he could at least try to seem the slightest bit scandalised. Perhaps one's idea of propriety alters once one has become someone's caregiver... or the allures of women elude him completely. She has never seen him make eyes at anyone, now that she thinks of it.

He undoes the buttons at the back of the dress and helps her pull it over her head. She instructs him in how to unlace her corset, and once free of it she pulls off her stockings. The gods, and whichever lawman stole them, know where her satin shoes have gone, but she does not. Darius eyes her up and down as she stands beside the fire in nothing but her shift.

"Yes," he says thoughtfully. "Good."

He offers his arm to her and leads her up the steps at a slow pace, as if they are lord and lady taking a stroll through the gardens. The two lawmen, Caius and Opp-something, waits for them outside the door at the top of the stairs. The warm, dry air washes over her, making her feel like a creature of the dark being let out into the light. Squinting in the bright sunlight shining through the tall windows at the opposite end of the hall, she lets Darius lead her towards the entrance hall. They ascend the marble steps, turning right into a wood-panelled corridor whose soft carpet makes her feel as though she is walking on fluffy clouds. She hears the murmur of voices drift through a set of open double-doors up ahead as though in a dream. Her grip around Darius' arm tightens. She presses herself against him, steps slowing. They reach the double doors, the lawmen pressing in behind them to drive them forwards. The courtroom is large, bright and crowded. All representative of the General Council sit in the benches to her right, and those of the High Council occupy the raised benches to her left. The seven justices sit upon the dais at the front of the courtroom, with the chief justice occupying the large, throne-like chair in the middle. The small gallery in the back of the room is where next of kin and witnesses are expected to sit until they are called. She will sit alone behind a small table in front of the gallery, next to the witness box.

"You must walk the rest of the way by yourself." Darius pats her hand.

The room quiets as she lets go of him, as if everyone just noticed that she has arrived. She fixes her eyes on the table waiting for her and strides forward, long, dirty hair swaying back and forth. She hears Mama let out a half-terrified shriek, which cuts off so quickly she can only surmise that Elfrida has fainted. Chairman Lindberg sits at the centre of the benches reserved for the High Council, blonde hair neatly parted to the side and combed back, ice blue eyes watching her dispassionately through his small, round eyeglasses. She flicks her eyes sideways and finds Nile Dok reclining on one of the benches to her right. How long will he be able to stay if there is a revolution igniting outside their gates? She reaches the plain wooden chair beside the table, and sits down. At the dais, the justices all rise in unison. Silence settles inside the court, broken only by the sound of the large wooden doors slamming shut.

Chief Justice Camilla vai Nazaria is a small, austere woman with the countenance of a shrivelled plum, her complexion pale, like all those of the high blood, and her eyes are a piercing azure blue. She motions the other justices to sit with the air of a queen bidding her subjects to kneel before her, and fixes Iris with her stern gaze. While all the justices are of the high blood, slim and pale and blue-eyed, none bear such obvious marks of a rigidly ascetic lifestyle as Chief Justice Camilla. The woman is positively papery thin, devoid of all attempts at beauty and all expression of pride. Her hands are gnarled as if she derives pleasure from depriving herself of lotion, like each frayed cuticle is a battle-scar to wear for all to see. She clears her throat as if to invoke an even heavier, more pressing silence than the one already settled within the room. Perhaps she is urging them to breathe more quietly, or if possible, not to breathe at all.

Camilla vai Nazaria places her left palm over her heart and raises her right hand to her brow in ancient fashion. "The sun rises," she says in a thin, high voice.

"Over Thessia!" the attendants of the court thunder in unison, as though it had been agreed beforehand. If so, no one had seen fit to inform Iris of it.

"Iresia vai Ditrus." Camilla's words do not sound like a question, but when the chief justice does not continue immediately, Iris begins to wonder if she should offer some form of reply. She instinctively turns her head to glance at Nile Dok. He looks mildly amused, and inclines his head almost imperceptibly.

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Of the Bachmann family," Chief Justice Camilla continues and begins to flip through a stack of papers before her. "Your father is Dieter Bachmann, our head of research?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"How remarkable." The way she says it, it is not remarkable in any positive aspect. "You are a first class graduate of the Academy?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

A general murmur arises among the assembled councils and justices, as if they all have a thing or two they would like to say about that. An aged, balding justice leans forward in his seat, peering sideways at Chief Justice Camilla vai Nazaria.

"Were you not part of the committee to evaluate and select this child for the Academy, Chief Justice?"

Nazaria gives him a cold look. "You know very well that we were both part of that same committee, Justice Samus."

"Yes, yes, I am not quite so feeble as to have forgotten that much... This one is supposed to have graduated in 846." He peers down at the paper before him through squinted eyes, despite the large and visibly thick eyeglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. "Why did we pick one so much younger than the others?"

Camilla turns over the top of her papers, peering down at it. "How old are you, child?"

"I am six-and-ten, Your Honour."

"You were six, and the other selected eight or nine then."

Chief Justice Camilla turns to Justice Samus. "She was healthy, strong and eager to prove herself, what with the rumours of the blood curse having afflicted that brother of hers. Remember Julian 'the Paragon' vai Ditrus, Justice Samus? I would also remind you that despite that unpleasant business, this young lady is the result of generations of excellent breeding. Ladies and gentlemen, what you see before you is supposedly one of the last scions of Acherus, the demigod son of Aclerion. Regardless of whether you believe such tales, I personally do not, one cannot deny that this child's blood is of ancient and most noble stock. Few have served our people better than her father, and his father before him."

Chief Justice Camilla pauses, allowing for a general murmur to rise within the courtroom. In the benches, councilmen crane their necks as if to get a better look at her, buzzing like a swarm of angry wasps. A high councilman leans into Chairman Lindberg to whisper something into the man's ear, making the chairman wince and grimace.

Chief Justice Camilla vai Nazaria clears her throat again, never even reaching for the gavel at her right hand side. The room quiets once more. "Well then, child. Now that your identity and pedigree has been established, let us run through the court proceedings. Today the High Council will detail for us the chain of events which led to your arrest, and provide us with the information necessary to understand the allegations brought against you. You will take the stand tomorrow, followed by character witnesses and anyone willing to testify on your behalf. Once this is done, my colleagues and I will deliberate, and if time allows we will deliver our verdict later that same day. Do you understand these proceedings as I have described them for you?"

Iris dips her chin. "Yes, Your Honour."

From various members of the High Council, she learns of the extensive work done by various members of staff to attempt to track down the persons responsible for the attack on Wall Maria. Surmising that the object of their mission was the founding titan, all possible ways to approach the royal family had been investigated, and though it had been established that service within the King's Armed Forces within Mitras was the most obvious route, agents had been planted within the royal staff and the other government bodies. Knowing the enemy titan vessels had attacked from the south, it was determined they would most likely stay within the geographical area most well known to them. The southern division of the Training Corps was as such believed to be their most likely point of entry into the King's Armed Forces. Agents were planted within all actively recruiting branches, but special care was taken in choosing the agents to infiltrate the southern division. She was the third to be chosen for this special duty, fresh out of the graduate crop of 846. Chairman Lindberg himself rises from his seat to read the motivation for choosing her over any of the other six first-class graduates.

"Agent Bachmann is of most noble breeding stock. Her early psychological evaluations showed us that we had a highly malleable idealist personality, with a deep seated yearning for worthiness and achievement. Given a strong directive we believed she could be shaped into a most formidable agent as well as a true believer of our cause." Here he pauses, as court assistants roll a large stand into the room. An enlarged copy of a report card hangs suspended from the stand, bearing her name in stark letters at the top. The General Council is invited down onto the floor to inspect the report up close, as to draw their personal conclusions from it. Once they have all returned to their seats the six justices and the chief justice make their way off the dais to stand before it. When everyone's curiosity has been sated the justices return to their seats, and the stand is rolled back behind the High Council's benches.

Chairman Lindberg continues: "Bachmann proved to be a dissocial, pragmatist character who, despite repeated attempts from her peers, never connected strongly with anyone. Remarkably enough, neither did she seem to hold any grudges or get into any disagreements. She listened well to briefings and proved to be an analytical mind, capable of unbiased reasoning. Serving as part of the cleanup crew in 845 and 846, the group partook in an unusually high number of armed encounters on account of the instability caused by the fall of Wall Maria. Agent Bachmann was the appointed leader of five missions during this time, suffering an expected number of casualties as well as three fatalities. Undergoing psychological assessment following each fatality, Agent Bachmann showed no signs of being emotionally compromised by these deaths. As a leader she showed a high regard for the welfare of her comrades, but when the situation demanded it she proved herself willing to sacrifice the lives of others to accomplish her mission. She even proved herself willing to go beyond that which duty required, and was badly injured in the spring of 846. If not for the ingenuity of our head of medicine, Ivan of the clan now known as Sychkin, the injury would have claimed her life."

His last sentence seemed to be the cue for two court assistants to hand over a number of copies of a medical file to the representatives of the General Council and the justices. When they have had some time to read and discuss the file amongst themselves, Chairman Lindberg motions for silence.

"Agent Bachmann recovered fully and performed well in our last evaluative tests. All this, and the opinions of her character that her fellow graduates expressed to us, convinced us that she would be the ideal candidate for long-term, deep infiltration."

She tries to see herself in Chairman Lindberg's description of the agent they chose. How many times has she asked herself the question "Why me"? The answer, as it turns out, is terribly disappointing. With her head bent, she listens to a high councilman as he reads the reports made by a third party agent tasked with overseeing her progress. Obviously, the third party agent is Valentin Wolfbrandt, but he is conspicuously absent from these proceedings. Where is he? Why is he not here to laugh in her face as she falls from grace?

Several hours later Chairman Lindberg pronounces that the High Council feel they have presented the case in its entirety, and are content they have proven that she has either wilfully or negligently disobeyed a direct order. The consequences of this failure are already known to all parties present, and need no further explanation. Chief Justice Camilla lifts the gavel and bangs it against the wooden block two times.

"This court is now adjourned. We will meet on the morrow to hear the testimony of the accused. Young lady, you are hereby excused from this courtroom. Your escort will meet you by the doors."

Everyone stays in their seats except for Iris, and to her surprise, Councilman Dok. He climbs down from the benches and joins her as she walks past the gallery. Papa is not among the people sitting there. The powder on Mama's face is streaked with tears, and Ariadne looks as grave as a funeral attendant. Darius is still present, and he rises as they approach him.

"Agent Grimm," Dok says and tips his chin. Darius bows to the councilman, as is appropriate, and taking her by one arm the two men escort her out through the open double doors. Once outside, Councilman Dok stops and turns to her.

"Here, I leave you. There was a disturbance in Stohess this morning, and I really should try to convince the two goons of Berg Newspapers not to print anything sensational about the persons responsible for the damage. Some might be tempted to believe it is the King's own First Interior Squad as the Mad Dog himself was seen, which is why I am tasked with disabusing them of such notions. Sad to say I will not be able to attend you tomorrow. My old friend Erwin is to receive his sentence at the royal palace, and my presence is required." He reaches forward and pats her shoulder. "Best of luck, Agent Bachmann. I believe we will see each other again, regardless of the outcome."

They watch him walk away, before Darius leads her down into the darkness of the underground prison.

They reconvene on the morrow. It was even harder to walk into the courtroom today, because she knew what awaited her inside. Papa sits in the gallery next to Mama and Ariadne. His hair is still thick, but there is more grey in it than she remembers. He wears his best frock coat, and looks her stonily in the eyes as she walks past. She takes her place by the witness stand dressed in nothing but her dirty shift. The Chief Justice peers quizzically at her, but does not remark upon her appearance. Nile Dok's spot on the General Council's bench is as promised, empty. Will Erwin Smith and she share a fate at the end of this day?

"To order," Camilla vai Nazaria calls, though no one is in any way being disorderly. "Are you ready to give us your testimony, child?"

"Yes, Your Honour ."

"I doubt I need to remind you that honour demands you tell us the truth."

"You do not, Your Honour"

She gives a short-worded, factual recount of her life and actions over the course of the last three years, including the events that transpired during the 57th expedition outside the walls, and the calamity following the appearance of titans within Wall Maria. The justices contemplate her in silence once she is done, and their judgement is a massive weight pressing down upon her. Finally, Chief Justice Camilla clears her throat. She brushes invisible crumbs from the front of her court robes.

"What were your orders, Agent Bachmann?"

"To separate the blindworm from the adder and to eliminate all hostiles."

"Did you understand what these orders meant?"

"I thought I did, Your Honour, and Agent V. Wolfbrandt confirmed that I had understood them right."

"When did you meet with the boy Wolfbrandt?"

"A week and two days from the choosing ceremony, in which I and the two Marley infiltrators joined the Survey Corps."

"In your own words: Do you believe that you, at some point, had an opportunity to complete your mission, but for whatever reason, failed to do so?"

Iris swallows. Her throat is sore and dry. Knowing there is only one answer she can give to the court, she closes her eyes.

"I believe there was, Your Honour."

The courtroom erupts in a cacophony of wild chatter. Several arguments seem to break out between fellow councilmen, who resort to waving their hands at each other in expressive gestures while making loud exclamations. Someone behind Iris utters a loud, piercing cry followed by repeated hushing sounds, making Iris suspect that Ariadne had been thoroughly shocked to hear this, and is now being audibly quieted by their mother. One of the justices had straightened himself with such violence that both man and chair had almost toppled over backwards. The chair totters on two feet, the justice's arms flapping like a bird taking flight, and the ancient Justice Samus dives forward to lend his support. Through shared effort they tilt the chair back onto its four legs with an echoing 'bang'. Camilla vai Nazaria sits in the midst of the chaos, looking mightily unimpressed with her fellow men's lack of composure. She lifts her gavel and bangs it repeatedly against the wooden block, slowly but steadily bringing the court back to order.

"Gentlemen please. Settle down or I will have to ask you to leave my courtroom." Chief Justice Camilla bangs the gavel against the block a few more times for good measure, before deciding that the men are ordered enough for her liking. "Thank you for your testimony, child. You will have another opportunity to speak before this is over. Be seated now."

Iris bows her head and moves to her chair.

"Time for our character witness," the chief justice continues. "This court calls the girl's father, Dieter vai Octavius Bachmann. You may approach the witness stand."

Dieter Bachmann rises out of his seat and marches forward like an army commander into battle. He takes his place, gripping the sides of the witness stand like a preacher readying himself for his sermon, fully intent on the deliverance of his flock.

"Lord Bachmann, do you confirm that Iresia vai Ditrus is the child of your flesh and blood?"

"Yes, I do... Your Honour," he says shortly. Weaker men have shied from his gaze through the ages, but Camilla vai Nazaria is not easily deterred. Used to elbowing her way through a deeply patriarchal society, she meets him dead on.

"Lord Bachmann, is there to your mind any particular reason why this court should show leniency towards your girl?"

"There is. She is my daughter."

The justices wait, evidently thinking he will have more to say, but his hard mouth stays firmly shut. One of the justices, a broad shouldered elderly man with bright white hair and bushy moustaches, leans a little forward and speaks very loudly, as though a great chasm separates them and not just some ten meters.

"Don't you have another daughter?!"

Dieter Bachmann's eyes narrow. "I had a son once, but he is no more. Two daughters remain to me."

Chief Justice Camilla glances to the gallery where Ariadne is seated next to Elfrida. "So there is another daughter then. Your younger girl looks strong and healthy to me."

"Do you mean to say that all daughter are the same - have one, and you have them all?"

"No, I suppose not," she says carelessly.

Iris' father turns his gaze on the general councilmen in their benches, his flinty blue eyes settling on each man a second or two before moving to the one next to him - slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. When he is done with them he turns to the high councilmen, giving them the same treatment.

"Let us not pretend that we are here to discuss the virtues or value of daughters. This trial is to decide with whom the fault lies. Who is most guilty for the failure of this mission? Is it the child, who stumbles and falls like children do, or does the fault of the offspring lie with the father? I told her our history of deceit and oppression the day she was born, before she even had a name. Perhaps I should have beaten her and taught her to hate, as to be deaf to the allures and temptations of mankind. Or does the fault lie with a system that sends a girl of three-and-ten to do the work of grown men?" An angry murmur rises following these words, and Dieter Bachmann takes it in as though the councilmen's displeasure is of no more consequence than the buzzing of flies. When he tires of their conspiring he straightens his posture, and one by one the men in the benches fall silent.

"I do not have the answer. Wretched and faithless she may be, and I cannot say that I am proud of what she has become - but she is my daughter, my flesh. I held her when she was new-born, this small, wrinkly thing that fit into my two hands, and now you would take her from me. That is all I have to say." He stands with his head held high and his shoulders back another moment before releasing his hold on the witness stand. He turns and walks back to his seat in the gallery, the space where he has passed seeming to yawn open. Chief Justice Camilla flips through her papers, taking her time at it.

"Iresia, as no witnesses have come forward to give testimony in your favour I will ask you a question, and I wish for you to reflect on the answer before you give it." She looks sternly at Iris. "Rise, girl."

Iris stands, feeling everyone's eyes on her.

"Is there any information you wish to share with us before we deliberate?"

Had she made the right choice? It might be that no one really knows whether it is the right or the wrong choice at the time they are making it. You get handed a set of circumstances, and then at a time when you still do not know all the parameters and have little time to contemplate the decision, you choose, and try to live with the consequences. Because that is what it is really about, is it not – choosing what you can live with. Perhaps she had made the wrong choice, but she would do it all again.

"No, Your Honour."

Camilla vai Nazaria could never be accused of being softer than the blunt end of a smith's hammer, but she looks at Iris as if she would like to ask the question another time, and receive a different answer.

"Is there any new witness present who wishes to come forward?" The Chief Justice waits, but the silence is more compact than ever before. "Very well, my colleagues and I will begin our deliberations. We call you back when we have reached a verdict." She brings the gavel down on the wooden block, and all around people rise from their seats and begin to file out through the doors. Darius comes forth to take Iris by the arm, and they wait until the crowd thins before they make their way outside. She finds her parents and her sister stood in the hall just outside the doors. Tears have created deep riverbeds through the powder on Mama's cheeks, and the kohl has slipped from her lashes to settle in dark smudges beneath her eyes. In her desperation she resorts to needles acts of violence, slapping her silk gloves against the shoulder of Papa's frock coat with a feeble 'thwack'.

"Oh you beast! You cold and cruel man! It is a crime in itself I say, a crime not to come to the defence of your eldest child. Is this all the love you have for us? Have I not been a patient and faithful wife to you all these years? If so, why do you conspire to put me in my grave? I cannot lose another child, I simply cannot! My heart will not bear it, the pain will shatter me into pieces and I will go to bed one night, never to rise again. Have pity, Mister Bachmann, my love, for what is all this influence you have worth if you cannot use it this once to save your own flesh and blood? Ask to speak to the judges once more, make them see what a farce this is. I beg you, I beseech you!"

Dieter takes the gloves from his wife's hand with a face that looks as though it was hewn from stone. "This is why women have no place in war or government. Spare me your senseless blathering, Frida. This is not a time when your emotion will be well spent or effectual." He turns to look at his daughter. "Your mother believes words carry more weight than actions. Trust me, if any words of mine could put those Marleyan devils down, or make you innocent, I would have spoken them. You have made this bed for yourself; now you must lie in it."

The justices are not long in deliberation, and the accused along with the court attendees are called back within the hour. It is not a good sign, as Papa points out grimly before they file back into the courtroom. When Chief Justice Camilla sees Iris approach through the aisle in between the gallery and the general council's benches, she motions her to the witness stand. Her knees feel wobbly and she grips the sides of the stand to hold herself upright, wondering if her father had held onto it for the very same reason.

"To order," Camilla vai Nazaria drones rather unnecessarily, giving them all a hard look which makes Iris feel like some sort of boneless pudding. "We have heard the evidence the High Council has presented against the accused, and we have heard an account of the event from the accused's own mouth. Even when we take the words of the character witness into account, we have heard precious little to convince us there are circumstances which would alleviate your guilt, child. Considering the vulnerable position of our people within these walls, and the dire situation we find ourselves in - the justices and I find it impossible to consider the act of failing to comply with a given order, as anything but an act of treason."

A murmur rises among the attendees of the court. Many of the councilmen shift in their seats and turn to whisper to their neighbours, and the general emotion of the crowd seems to be assent. Iris feels slightly sick, though the verdict is not unexpected.

"The usual punishment for this vile offence would be hanging, disembowelment and quartering, but it is not a punishment suited for those of the high blood." Camilla pauses and looks at each of her fellow justices in turn. Her eyes linger on them a moment or two before sliding on, her expression darkening. Finally she bows her head and sighs deeply. "Iresia vai Ditrus: On the morrow four days from now, you will be brought out into the yard behind the House of Judgement, where a firing squad will await you. May the gods have mercy on your soul, child."

There a loud clattering and thumping as many councilmen jump from their seats, some shouting their assent, others crying their outrage that a convinced traitor be given an honourable death, while a select few seem to protest the tardiness in proceeding with the execution. A loud, wordless scream cuts through the din and babble as Elfrida Bachmann unleashes her pain and anguish upon the world before fainting and falling down, cushioned by her many skirts. The sound of voices quiets to a low, steady murmur in Iris' ears as she tries to blink through the spots of light and darkness flashing before her eyes. She grips the witness stand, trying to fight to the strange feeling of warmth and weightlessness, noticing Darius only when he lays her arm across his shoulder to hold her up. He leads her down the aisle and her clumsy feet try to keep up with his step, but fail as often as they succeed. It does not matter though, because Darius is strong and can easily bear her weight. She sees Mama lying unconscious on the floor through the strange flashes of light. Only men may attend the executions of nobles, and this is the last time they will see each other; although one of them actually sees the other.

"Goodbye," she whispers to Mama and to Ariadne, sitting on the floor next to her, face screwed up and tear-streaked.

The world flashes in and out of sight as Darius leads her back down into the darkness. Her feet stumble and drag against the stone but she feels no pain. They reach the bottom of the steps and stumble into her cell, Darius breathing sounding laboured in her ear as he lowers her onto the straw mattress. She collapses, flopping bonelessly, her eyes staring at nothing in front of her. She had known it was coming and yet it is unfathomable. It happens all the time in the stories, but always to someone else, and never to you.

"Forgive me, but I must go." She blinks at the sound of Darius' voice, almost having forgotten that he was there, and suddenly terrified now that he needs to leave. Her hands scrabble for something to hold on to and catch his sleeve, clutching it like he is the only thing keeping her from drowning. "No." He pulls himself free and straightens before shrugging the coat from his shoulders and holding it out to her.

"There is something I must do, and I will not return before the day of your execution. Wear this, it will help keep you warm. Remember Iresia – if it is not alright, it is not the end."

She does not know what that is even supposed to mean, but before she has pulled herself together enough to ask, he is gone. After some time she pulls Darius coat over her, as it is the only thing within reach that reminds her of anything close to home. The guards bringing her meager meals, rekindling the fire and emptying the bucket stood in the corner of her cell, is all that marks the passage of time during the following days. They allow her to clean herself on the eve before her execution, leaving a bucket of water, a brush and a piece of soap inside her cell. She cleans herself, dipping her hair into the dregs of the water last of all. What is left after that is thick and black with grime. She wrings the excess water from her hair and shrugs into Darius' large coat. Kneeling on her mattress she clasps her hands together, breaths coming in shuddering bursts from her lips.

"Everything I have ever needed you have given to me, whether I deserved it or not. Please, give me strength not to shame myself or my family any further. Steady my foot so that I might walk to the post unaided, and hold my hand so that I will not try to run away. I know it is a lot to ask, but please... give me the courage to die. I do not know if I can do it without you. Help me, and I swear my soul and a thousand years of service to you. Lord of the dawn, watch over me as the sun sets forever."

She does not feel the lord in her heart as some say they do, but reason goes to say that if he exists, he hears her. Sitting down, she pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs her arms around herself. The firelight flickers through the dark chamber and dances through the thicket of her lashes as she half-closes her eyes. Is Ymir already on the other side, waiting for her by the gates? She wants to believe it. If Ymir is not already there she will wait for her, and they will pass through the golden arch together. In time Braun will come too, and they can talk over the things they never got to discuss in life. Perhaps they can help each other reach absolution, and accept that much was denied them in life. Not everyone gets the things they wish for - another hard-learned lesson.

She thinks of the note she slipped him inside that cigarette case, wondering if he will try to establish contact. How long until he gives up the attempts? Will he understand what has happened to her, or spend what remains of his life wondering? Perhaps he will not think of her at all. The note might by now lie atop a desk inside some army general's office in wait of a decision what to do with it. Braun might never have cared. Her own ambivalence and doubts might have influenced her thoughts to the point where she saw things in him that were never there, like ghosts rising out of the mist... But she does not believe so. She hopes he never returns to Paradis, and that he is able to live the rest of his life in some semblance of peace.

Though she cannot remember closing her eyes, she must have done so. Suddenly there are lawmen at the door of her cell, banging a baton against one of the bars until the echoes chase themselves around the room in a raucous cacophony.

"Oi young lady, it's time," the lawman Opp says, and somehow she manages to get up.

They lead her up the stairs and out the back door into the yard. The westward wall by which the post has been raised is reinforced with an extra layer of brickwork. Bags of sand have been piled before it to prevent bullets from ricocheting. The firing squad consists of seven men wearing lawmen's uniforms and high hats. They are young, but thankfully not as young as her. A few of them will have weapons carrying blank rounds, as to diffuse the burden of conscience for the one who fires the killing shot. Having fired a blank round herself, she knows it does not feel the same, but the illusion of shared responsibility helps people do what they alone could not.

The other half of the yard is crowded with councilmen in morning dress. She sees Nile Dok among them, now sporting a black eye as though someone's patience with him ran too thin. His narrow weasel-face shows no emotion, but he nods to her as he sees her. Papa steps out of the crowd, and when someone moves to stop him from approaching he brushes them aside. He looks down his high, thin nose at her.

"Chin up now, pumpkin. It will not do much for the outcome, but facing death with his shoulders back and his head held high does much for the man... or woman."

She does not know what to say to him. Words seem to have lost all their meaning, now that no time to make good on them remains.

"I tried to do right, Papa."

His nostrils flare hearing this, and a muscle at the corner of his mouth twitches.

"When will you learn that what is right is decided by men's purses, not by their conscience? Never, it seems. Perhaps it is my fault." He exhales a short breath which might constitute a sigh. "I will be here the whole time."

The lawmen Opp and Caius push her forward from behind. The sun is about to rise, and it is tradition for the execution to take place in the first light of dawn. Iris twists her head to look back at her father, and it seems to her that there is all the things in the world left to say now that there is no time left to say them.

"Farewell father," she says as they shove her forward. She sees a last flash of his thin, white face with the mouth turned down in a frown, and thinks that maybe, just maybe there was some wetness to his eyes. In spite of everything she feels a ridiculous, proud swelling in her chest as she takes her last steps towards the post. They turn her to tie her hands behind her back, and she cranes her head to look at the crowd with that tall, imperious man in front. The stoic who had shed not a single tear as they burned the body of his first-born son, whose face now seem to strain not to crumble.

"No hood," she says to the men as she sees Caius fumbling with a black cloth sack in his hands. "I would die with the light of dawn on my face." She feels calm now, content. Perhaps this is what Darius meant when he said those cryptic words?

"Alright, ma'am. Any last words?"

She looks into the crowd. Valentin has not come.

"No, not really." She swallows, heart beating fast and hard.  _"Here I come, Ymir."_

' _BANG'_

The courthouse door slams open, bouncing off the wall as it strikes it with a ringing clash.

"Oi, what the hell is-" a high, harsh voice shouts, and then cuts off mid-sentence. Several uniformed figures swell through the doorway and into the courtyard, their heads snapping back and forth as they take in the gathered crowd. Jean Kirschtein's gaze sweeps across the firing squad and then finds her tied to the post by the reinforced wall. "Bachmann?"

"Hello!" Captain Hange Zoë cries, making a quick recovery from the shock. "I am Captain Hange Zoë of the Survey Corps, nice to meet you all. What an interesting establishment you have here, and those weapons look mighty fine too, I really must get to take a look at them at some point. I've come to you today because I seem to have misplaced one of my subordinates." Her head swings around, and if she is surprised to find said subordinate tied to an execution-post, she hides it well. "Ah, there she is! How nice of you to care for her for me, but now I really must reclaim her."

Iris notices that Nile Dok seems to have shrunk back into the crowd, to the point where she can no longer see him. Chairman Lindberg shoves his way to the front, his pale eyes scrutinizing Captain Hange with obvious contempt.

"That will not happen," he says frostily.

"Oh but I simply must insist, I have orders from my commander you see," Hange says cheerfully. Behind her, Kirschtein, Armin, Connie and Sasha hang back, wary of the large crowd of men.

"Your commander has no authority here. Only the highest possible authority may interrupt these proceedings, and for that I would need to see a royal decree or Her Majesty the Queen to appear in person."

Hange stares at Chairman Lindberg, visibly nonplussed. "And... who are you?"

The chairman's mouth twists disdainfully. "I am Caeles Lindberg, chairman of the High Council which governs this part of Mitras." He removes a roll of paper from his inner pocket, thrusting it forward in Captain Hange's general direction. "This treaty establishes the protection of our people as well as our right to govern ourselves, signed by Karl Fritz himself, and valid as long as the royal family rules within these walls. Only those of royal blood may impose on or stay this court ordered execution."

Hange takes the treaty in her hands and unrolls it. "Wonderful, if I could only get some time to verify this-"

"Take all the time you want, take it with you for all I care. This execution will proceed as it has been decided upon, before we lose the morning light," Chairman Lindberg says and turns his back to her.

"The hell it will! You don't have the right to decide something like that," Kirschtein barks, pointing his finger at the chairman's face, his eyes flashing menacingly.

"Actually, Jean," Armin says, reading the treaty over Captain Hange's elbow. "It looks like they do. If this treaty is real..." He gives Kirschtein a look which signals defeat.

"Well... that doesn't matter," Kirschtein splutters. "We don't even know what Bachmann's supposed to have done. If she's guilty of anything at all she needs to have a trial, instead of just being tied to a post and shot by a bunch of shady bastards. I mean, what the hell is this place anyway?"

Chairman Lindberg turns back to Kirschtein. "Make no mistake young man; you are not in a position to do anything right now. We have you surrounded. Our weapons are far superior to those you carry, and so long as you stand on this soil our word is law."

Hange frowns deeply, darkly. "Stand down Jean. I don't think Mr. Lindberg is a reasonable sort of man, are you?"

Lindberg's mouth widens and turns up, baring white teeth. "It is good that we understand each other, Captain Hange Zoë. You may stay and watch."

Iris smiles to Kirschtein, before her eyes slide back to her father.

"Arms!" Lindberg barks. "Shoulder your rifles."

The sun rises and breaks through the thin blanket of clouds to shine its warm, brilliant light down upon the yard. The white stone beneath everyone's feet catches the light and sparkles like broken glass. She feels its warmth against her face, blinding her to the sight of the seven riflemen standing before her.

"Take aim!"

She closes her eyes, leaving the world in the hands of her comrades. Let them have their go at it, best of luck, friends. Best of luck.

' _BANG'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End...?
> 
> I am going to be very honest with you and say that I am feeling very dejected and disillusioned. I had planned to do so much more with this story, introducing more political schemes, chances at redemption, and tying the story back to some things introduced in earlier chapters. I wanted the story to have an actual plotline, but I fear that in my efforts to make it so I have only managed to make it mundane and boring. Obviously I am not a native english speaker, and while I have never let it stop me it poses its own set of difficulties upon the process - which at times becomes rather arduous. Make no mistake, I love writing, but at times it is frustrating and rather draining too. So, I thought that if I do decide to call it quits, this would be a good place in the story to do it. I haven't decided on anything yet, and to be honest I am not too keen on leaving it with such a gloomy ending... But perhaps I need to let it go for my own sake.  
> That's all for now. I'm going to have a long, hard think about it while I write a 'christmas special'-thing I've been thinking about lately.
> 
> Oh and just in case this is it - Thank you for reading.


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